Thus One Goes to the Stars
by RedShirtSurvivor
Summary: Spock starts teaching Uhura to play the the Vulcan harp, but they have a lot to learn about each other. [This exists separately from my other stories.]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This story has been bopping around in my head for a while and I'm just now getting it out. In addition to writing about my favorite pairing, I want to explore the friendship dynamic between Uhrua and some of the other principle players. She seemed to have a pretty decent connection with just about everyone and I think that's an important part of her character. Here's hoping I can do them all justice. **I welcome your insights. **The rest of the A/N will be at the bottom of the chapter unless they desperately need to come first. I don't own ST, I just think about it...a lot.

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><p>She made people respond to her. It was kind of her superpower. That's why she'd become a communications expert and why she'd chosen Starfleet. She had a talent for making people react to her, regardless of what species they were.<p>

So that's why Mr. Spock disturbed her so much. There was no response. Not in his eyes, posture or voice. If it wasn't for that dang cocked eyebrow, she would've thought he just couldn't see or hear her. And that's how he ended up occupying so much of her mental space. She reviewed every strictly professional interaction for a tiny glimmer of anything close to friendly. What went on in his head that made him so immune to her? _Immune—_like she was some kind of pathogen that just didn't affect Vulcans.

She told herself she was over it and was just starting to evict him from her off-duty thoughts. Then she made the mistake of wandering into rec room IV at the wrong time.

He was sitting in the corner, with the most elegant instrument in his lap. He had it wrapped in his embrace, holding it as close to his chest as his blue tunic. His fingers tickled the strings and the thing crooned for him. The melody was hypnotic and pulled her in stronger than if someone had actually taken her hand and dragged her into the space. She forgot to sit. All she could do was watch.

One of her hands moved to her collarbone and her fingers played against the neckline of her uniform. The other tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her fingers stopping to worry her earlobe.

Everyone else was going about their business, like this wonderful sound was nothing more than background noise. And she thought it must be impossible. Of all the music she'd heard, from all the planets, this was by far the most entrancing.

He looked up and his stare met hers. She felt caught and wanted to turn and leave, but her boots had obviously adhered to the floor tile. He didn't look away. She felt like maybe she could read him from the first time, as he continued to play. There were no words, but she saw the lyrics in his eyes. Maybe she'd written them there herself, but she could see them nonetheless.

The song ended and her breath left her in quiet, soft pants. She had no idea how long she'd gone without breathing but she supposed she may have broken a record. She wanted to run over to him and grip him up by the shirt, demanding an explanation. What had he done to her, how had he done it, and how long until he did it again? But she managed to walk the floor slowly and come to stand by his side.

"Commander."

"Lieutenant." This time she was sure he was looking at her and not trough her. And nowhere in her recollection had his voice been as deep as it was right then.

"That song, I've never heard it before."

" No, I doubt you would have. It is an old Vulcan ballad."

"I see. Are all of your people's songs so…" _disarming, enrapturing, seductive,_ "beautiful?"

"Your question is much too vague to warrant a direct answer, Lieutenant. Like earth, Vulcan has many styles of music, played on many different instruments. And the notion of beauty is completely subjective."

She nodded, missing much of what he'd just said, focusing on the delicate arc of the harp's long neck. Before she could censure herself, she reached out and touched the very top of it. He raised his eyebrow and watched her absentmindedly regarding the lyre.

"Would you like to hold it?" His voice broke her revelry. She wanted to, but she was also afraid. It seemed so precious and she didn't want to so much as exhale on it wrong.

"May I..."

He motioned for her to sit and placed it on her knee. Her fingers came dangerously close to touching his, but ultimately missed. She drew it close to her body, almost cradling it. Her hand hovered above the strings tentatively. She looked at it, touched it, held it like she was playing with a drug that she was tempted to try and terrified to become addicted to.

Finally, her fingertips moved over the strings and made a general strumming sound. She grinned down at it brightly, like it had just done her a favor and plucked the strings in the opposite direction. In its perfectly tuned state, it gave her relatively agreeable notes. And if it weren't so illogical, he may have concluded that this harp liked her as much as she liked it.

"I'd love to learn to really play this," she whispered.

"It is complex. Extremely so." His voice was low too, although he wasn't entirely sure why. "I have never heard of any human learning to play it."

"There is a first time for everything. I don't mind being the only human in the galaxy that can play this, if you don't mind being the Vulcan to teach me."

"If you truly desire to learn, then it would be illogical for me to refuse you. But I warn you that I am a demanding instructor. Coming under my tutelage would require diligence on your part."

"I'm never half-hearted in anything I do, Sir."

"Then we have an agreement, Ms. Uhura."

When she arrived to her room at the end of her shift, she stripped off her uniform and headed directly for the shower. The acoustics in the little stall were outstanding, and she started to hum the melody that he'd played earlier, promising herself that she'd be able to play it as well as him someday soon.

Checking her messages before bed, she found an invitation to visit the botany lab from Sulu, an advert from the ship's stores that Janice forwarded to her, and three large files from Commander Spock. The first was a digital textbook that had been run through the translator—Introduction to Post-Awakening Music Theory. The second was a playlist titled, "Vulcan transliterations of Terran music." The third was also a playlist called, "Ka'athyra."

She fell asleep somewhere in chapter seven, while the most intoxicating version of "Claire de Lune" she'd ever heard played in the background.

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><p>The next day, she took Sulu up on his invitation, deciding to spend her lunch break with him.<p>

The botany lab was one of the most beautiful places on the ship, second only to the observation deck. As soon as the doors parted, a perfume of exotic flowers welcomed her. The temperature was tropical, the air just a bit humid, since most of the plants thrived in that environment.

"Sulu," she greeted, grinning broadly and setting a tray between them.

"Uhura! Glad you came."

"Sure, I wasn't about to let you eat down here all alone. You like blueberry pomegranate juice, right?"

"You remembered. You're a gem, you know that." He accepted the cup and sipped from it, nodding approvingly.

"So I've been told." She pushed the plate of lettuce wraps closer to him. "What'd you want to show me?"

He reached beside him and pulled out a hardback, leather bound book. "Have you ever heard of the language of flowers? I though as a communications officer you might appreciate it."

"Where'd you get a book like this?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that my grandmother bought it for next to nothing at a yard sale? We used to work in her garden together, she and I. She gave this to me when I enrolled in the Academy." He laid his hand reverently on the cover and eyes took on a faraway look. His usually strong and jubilant voice dropped to a whisper. "Before we shipped off, I arranged for the florist to deliver lilies of the valley to her every year."

"What do they…?"

"They symbolize sweetness and say "you've made my life complete." But more than that, my grandfather used to give them to her for their anniversary."

"Oh, Sulu." Her eyelashes fluttered, batting away tears.

"You can borrow the book any time you want." He said, his tone brightening.

"And all I brought you was a snack." She chuckled, crunching down on a piece of carrot.

They spent the rest of the hour flipping gently through the book. Sulu pointed out his favorite flowers and their significances. The idea that someone could send messages via flora did appeal to the communications expert in her. The idea of receiving a bouquet that meant, "I wish I could be with you, my heart aches for you," appealed to the romantic in her.

Just before she left, Sulu handed her a beautiful orange chrysanthemum in full bloom. "What's this one mean?"

"It means "you're a wonderful friend.""

She pressed a light kiss to his cheek before returning to the bridge, smiling and humming to herself.

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><p>They called it a store, but the few shelves and racks that they had aboard hardly satisfied Rand, Masters or Uhura. That still didn't stop them from going every weekend.<p>

Janice sniffed the perfumes trying to find something she considered wearable but was having no such luck.

"That's what you get," Charlene said when Nyota had finished her anecdote about her latest attempt to get Mr. Spock's attention. "You should by now know that your _charm_ isn't going to work on him."

"Vulcan has no moon, Ms. Uhura." Jan added, imitating the commander's voice and cadence. Uhura's friends laughed mercilessly at her, while she narrowed her eyes in their direction. Once the blonde caught her breath, she continued. "Please go be illogical somewhere else."

They were guffawing now, so she left them, moving to look at a small display of bracelets. She slipped a few over her wrists and waited for those two to compose themselves.

At length, they were able to join her. "Nyota, listen to me. Stop before you hurt yourself." Rand began. "What if you end up falling for him?"

"Who's falling? Falling and flirting, they're two very different things. I only want to fluster the man occasionally, just to know I can."

"He flusters you constantly. You talk about him all the time. You've got Spock on the brain."

"No."

"Yes." They retorted in unison.

"It's okay. He's pretty," Masters said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "And now that he's teaching you to play the harp, it's only natural that you develop a little crush. Just. Don't. Fall."

"Would you stop? It's not a crush, it's not the beginnings of love, it's all in good fun. Now can we finish shopping in peace?"

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><p><strong>TBC... <strong>Sorry for ending with dialogue, but this was the most _logical_ place to stop the chapter. Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Uhura was on her way back from the sensor lab with her department report in hand. Her walk was brisk and purposed, but that didn't stop her from catching a glimpse of Kevin Riley sitting in one of the break rooms, by himself, staring at a cup of coffee like it was his only friend. She checked the time on her PADD and still had a few minutes before she absolutely had to be back on the bridge.

"Riley," she said as she approached the table. He didn't respond, only sighed and brought the little plastic cup to his lips. "Kevin." She took the seat opposite him and smiled warmly when she finally got him to look at her.

"Oh, hi Uhura." His delightful, almost comically youthful voice was low and dejected. "Want some coffee?"

"Charlene says it tastes like warp coolant."

"It does."

"So why are you drinking it?" She chuckled softly, taking his wrist and lowering it until his hand was safely away from his mouth.

"I don't know" he shrugged. "Something to do."

"Is this still about the other day, Riley?"

"Yeah. I can't get away from it. Everywhere I go somebody's singing "I'll take you home again, Kathleen" or saying "One. More. Time." I think the embarrassment is going to kill me."

"No, it won't. They're just having a little fun. You've got to take levity where you can get it out here. We're still harassing Sulu up on the bridge. I told him at least three times that I'm more of a mocha goddess than fair maiden. And we're still calling him D'Artagnan. But it's nothing personal."

"Uhura, I didn't run around with a sword. I hijacked the ship. I shut down the engines and almost got us incinerated in a decaying orbit! I'll never be respected as an officer again. The captain is probably going to maroon me on the next planet he sees."

"Look, it was a virus. If you had the Kamaraazite flu no one would blame you for sneezing or running a fever. And no one blames you for showing symptoms of that infection either. I'm just glad I didn't catch it. I probably would've put on my Josephine Baker costume and really put on a show." She laughed and hit him lightly on the arm.

"Who's that?"

"Look it up and get back to me." She winked and went about her way to her post.

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><p>It didn't take long for Spock to realize that teaching Ms. Uhura was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She was a curious and involved student who was as demanding of him as he was of her. She expected perfection of herself and was unstoppable until she achieved it. She would play a set of notes over and over again until she got it right. On the occasions where she became extraordinarily frustrated, she would thrust the instrument back at him. "Show me again, Sir." He slowed and exaggerated his movements so that she could see clearly. Her eyes would follow his hands and she would mimic the actions while he did them. When she got even more frustrated she would grunt and cover her face with her hands, shaking her head. "I'm never going to get this!"<p>

"I assure you, Ms. Uhura that you will be able to execute these chord changes. Emotional outbursts will not help you, however." She'd looked up at him like she was about to come undone and recovered her face. "Again," he insisted, and she always complied.

They argued—really argued—about the place of emotion in music. He contended that it was a science and should be treated as such. She of course, _felt_ that it was an art form, a vehicle for expression. They both presented examples but neither of them was willing to abandon their position.

"I just cannot believe that "Composition 170" by Saavin is not about love and loss. I feel it here" she laid a hand across her chest "and I know it here," she pointed quickly to her temple.

"You are mistaken. Saavin was well known as a man of impeccable logic. He would not compose such a piece. And I fail to see how you could be so certain when the song is without lyrics."

"It doesn't need lyrics! I know what a love song sounds like. And I know what a song about lost love sounds like and Comp 170 sounds like both."

He shook his head. She refused to understand. "You must divorce yourself from emotion if you expect to master this discipline."

"No. No, I will not. Saavin didn't."

"You. Are. Wrong."

"You. Are. Wrong. Sir." She was standing in front of him, balled fists on her hips, glaring up at him, nostrils flared, her lips a hard line and her jaw tilted defiantly. Her newly acquired, but extensive knowledge of Vulcan music, was impressive and stimulating. He noticed a little crinkle in her nose that was more pleasing than in should have been. He could have smoothed that crease, ironed it out gently with his thumb. He imagined the bright spark of her thoughts in that instant. But he restrained himself, crossing in his arms to ensure his body's compliance.

"And I suppose that you have been able to ascribe one or more of your earth emotions to "Falor's Journey" as well?"

"Especially that one."

There was no reason to step closer, but he did it anyway. "Enlighten me."

She knew he was testing her. That song was painfully long, a full 348 verses, an epic detailing a rich man's trek into logic. "Verse by verse?"

"An abbreviation will suit our purposes just fine."

She grinned coquettishly. "You still may want to have a seat, Commander."

His eyes inspected the negligible distance between them and then roamed over her form, finally coming to stop when he met her gaze again. "I'm quite comfortable where I am, Lieutenant. Please…continue."

His regard almost broke her resolve. If it had been anyone but Spock she would have thought he was checking her out, maybe even making a pass. But she was afraid to trust any cues from him. He was raised on another planet. She could be misreading the situation entirely and make a complete and total fool of herself. She would keep the same tone she'd had earlier, show no change, and then it wouldn't get awkward.

"I'll speak only on the melody then, since most of your people's songs are solely instrumental. Anything else would be an unfair comparison."

"Logical." Was that a smile? If so, it was only the second she'd seen on him, but if they all looked like that, she could wait for months to see it again.

She launched into her explanation and he listened intently, never moving. It was like a staring contest, which she lost, looking away when his Vulcan scrutiny got to be too much. After a long and hopefully articulate presentation he looked at her and simply replied, "No." She wanted to scream, but that would get her absolutely nowhere with him. Obviously, he wasn't about to change his mind.

"It's getting very late, Commander. I should turn in."

"Indeed. Goodnight."

"Oh! Do you mind accompanying me on the lyre for talent night? Ensign Rosario was going to play his guitar for me, but he hurt his hand and won't be able to play for another two weeks."

"Very well."

"Thank you." He nodded and she took her leave.

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><p>Charlene and Janice sat expectantly in the audience. Last month, Nyota had put on a long red dress and sang a romantic song in Spanish that everyone loved, even though few understood. The time before that, she had lounged on the grand piano and sang a sensual jazz song. She never failed to entertain, that's why she always went last.<p>

"Did she say anything to you about what she was doing this time?"

"No, not a word. I haven't even heard her practicing."

"Weird."

The group of guys that had been up there, paying homage to earth's old boy band genre finished their energetic routine and were rewarded with resounding cheers and feminine screams. But instead of the MC coming to the stage to announce the last act, the lights went down.

There was a low mummer when a spotlight fell on the stage and Mr. Spock—in long, dark robes—sat on a stool, his harp in hand. He had never performed on talent night before and he didn't seem the type for theatrics. But he bowed his head slightly, and began to strum a quiet, lilting melody. Then, a disembodied voice rang out in the room. The audience twisted and craned their necks, trying to place the songstress before a second spotlight rose and escorted Nyota from the back of the house onto the stage next to Mr. Spock.

She wore a flowing off the shoulder gown that graduated from cool silver to a charcoal grey. Her hair was framing her face in a halo of tightly coiled, well defined curls, adorned with a single glittering barrette.

"Oh!" Jan whispered. "They're good together; I saw them in the rec room one time."

"Shh."

Nyota sang of a broken heart, a last ditch plea for reconciliation. She focused all her energy on Spock, casting him as the lover she couldn't do without. She bled every syllable, laying herself bare until she was nearly in tears, her voice molding to the anguish. Uhura moved closer to him and dropped to her knees, singing up at him. He looked right at her, looked her in the eyes, but his expression never changed, he never faltered. Her desperation played against his apparent apathy for a truly chilling performance. It felt like watching a life fall apart.

Her last note came softly, on a barely audible sigh, before she crumpled against his leg, spent.

The room went black and the audience stayed silent and awed for a brief second before erupting into an applause. The lights came back on slowly. Uhura was just getting to her feet, aided by the commander. Her hand came up and wiped her soaked cheeks.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant? You were not so emotional in rehearsal."

"I know. I have no idea where that came from. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"I am unharmed I assure you. Perhaps you should sit down."

"I'm fine. I promise. Plus look," she gestured to the rest of the still clapping crew. "We're a hit!" They turned and bowed before exiting the stage.

Despite her claims that she was okay, he took her by the elbow and sat her in the closest empty chair. He was rewarded with a tender smile that caused a reaction in him he knew he'd have to mediate on later.

"So you'll probably never accompany me again, huh?"

"While I did find your delivery to be overly impassioned, it was believable and artfully done, not to mention well received. I feel…grateful to have been a participant."

He noticed her friends hanging back, waiting patiently to speak with her so he greeted them and excused himself and went in search of his own companions.

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><p><strong>AN:** Thank you so much for your kind and encouraging comments and thanks to everyone who also expressed interest in this story by favoriting and following. I'm humbled. I hope this chapter delivered. Let me know either way.

I don't own ST, I just love it.


	3. Chapter 3

They had been a hit on talent night. He was approached and complimented dozens of times since. Apparently, everyone assumed that they would now be a duo. He had no objection, but did request that they choose the next song together.

For hours they sat in her quarters, close enough for their knees to touch, in front of her comm unit, scrolling through her extensive music library. She had Terran music from every decade reaching all the way back to the 1920s—some predating even then. Her xeno-library was equally impressive. Had he been human, he would have lost count of just how many they previewed. Many of them ended up being too emotional or too suggestive for his sensibilities. The others, she dismissed as "hokey" or "humdrum."

They discussed it at breakfast and lunch, during their breaks, even during quiet moments on the bridge. Repeatedly, his PADD would ding in the middle of the night, alerting him that Lieutenant Uhura had sent him yet another song. The melodies crept into his thoughts, sometimes providing a soundtrack for his meditation. While the deliberation continued he began to notice things about her like how she took her tea with two sweeteners and no cream, the way she worried her right ear lobe when she got lost in the sound, how she twirled her stylus and nibbled at the left corner of her mouth when she analyzed the melodies. When she was exasperated, she smoothed her hair back with both hands, before propping her elbows on the table, cradling her own head.

After nearly two weeks, they finally settled on an old earth ballad. He agreed because he believed that translating the music for the ka'athyra would prove to be a challenge. She found the lyrics suitably poetic. It wasn't about love, but a desire to return home—an idea that at least half of him could relate to on occasion.

They played the song over and over again, with him using his superior hearing to dissect and match each note. Once the preliminaries were taken care of, they tinkered with the arrangement. She insisted that he have a solo and was unwilling to hear any argument on the matter. When they managed to find a version that suited them both, she beamed and bounced a little in her seat, putting an affectionate hand on his arm. He simply cocked a brow in response.

A few nights later, they waited for their slot from the audience. Sitting next to him during the other numbers felt oddly date-like, but he was being extremely careful not to let any part of himself touch her. When they were alone, he seemed to relax, but like anything else, he could turn it off like a tap. His vibe was making her sit up straight and rigid, for fear she might look sloppy.

The show was lovely, really. It seemed like almost every crewmen had some kind of hidden talent. There were steppers, singers, jugglers, orators, and fire eaters, even one woman who painted a black canvas with clear glue and threw glitter at it to reveal a detailed portrait of Johnathan Archer. She watched in amazement, forgetting the stuffy Vulcan beside her, who looked on in detached fascination.

Two acts before their own he leaned over and proposed they go to the backstage area to prepare. He had chosen not to wear his robes for this particular song. It was about home and somehow wearing his native garb seemed overly sentimental. He found one of the few Terran ensembles he owned, a pair of camel colored trousers and a navy blue button down. He'd tucked the shirt in and secured the whole thing with a dark brown belt. He felt Nyota's eyes on him and he stood, looking at the stage trying to ignore her. But ignoring her was getting more difficult with every passing day and he ended up meeting her gaze anyway. "Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?"

She tilted her head and scrutinized him from head to toe. If he was a lesser man, he might have squirmed or shifted, but his control was at least that much intact. She reached for him and not knowing her intentions, he reflexively drew back, which did nothing to deter her. Her hands reached up for his throat and he calculated how long he would have before he was forced to defend himself against some kind of attack. But instead of squeezing his neck until she cut off his air supply, she undid the first two buttons on the collar. Her face relaxed instantly and she grinned while he recovered from the intimacy of such a banal gesture.

While he was considering this, Sulu ducked behind the curtain. "Psst, hey Uhura."

"Hikaru," she crooned. "What are you doing back here?" He pulled his hands from around his back and presented her with a ring of flowers, wound intermittently with ribbon. Pale pink roses sprinkled with white hyacinth. She pointed first to the roses. "Grace and joy?" He nodded. Then she indicated the other flower. "I'm stumped…"

"Loveliness or I'll pray for you. Whatever sentiment you like best."

"I'll take them both, thank you very much." She drew him into a tight embrace and kissed him on the cheek with a loud "mmwah!" Nyota then curtseyed low in front of Sulu and he placed the wreath on her head like some sort of coronation. The helmsmen bowed exaggeratedly before slipping out into the audience.

Spock had no idea what that interaction was, but he was certain that it was illogical, and that the flowers would look childish. Until she had pinned it in place and turned to look at him. His mind slowed, and for a second all he knew about the universe was that she looked like the ethereal queen of some vast lush woodland. In this flash of incoherence, he allowed himself to taken her in fully. She wore a lacy, knee length dress the color of champagne and pearlescent high heels shoes that physically she shouldn't have been able to move in. Her hair had been brought down around her face and twisted into soft curls that made her look like she had just been tousled between silken sheets.

"How do I look?" She asked, slightly repositioning the floral headband.

"Quite acceptable."

"Stop, you're making me blush." She retorted blandly. "We're up next."

Playing with her was like existing apart from reality. He could look at her—like a meditation flame—and forget anything else, like the dozens of crewmen just feet away, or the chair underneath him. The notes they made, tangled together in an intimate dance, writhing, surging, heaving and swelling until they created a single sound. He knew whatever space he existed in at the second was not occupied solely by him. She was there also. He saw it in her eyes when she stared at him, swaying her body to the melody he offered. Only the hearty applause was able to tear them away, and it felt like someone had taken a cleaver to the linen thread between them.

But his wits returned in an instant, like shields coming back on line and he was as unreadable as ever.

* * *

><p>Spock disrobed after the whole messy affair with Talos IV. He was comforted by that fact that all had gone according to his plan and that he had taken the only logical course of action. Pike was no longer wasting away, and Jim's command was safe. He had done his duty to both his captains and was satisfied. Now he would meditate and sleep.<p>

But before he could finish hanging up his dress shirt, he heard his door unlock and slide open. He expected to see Jim or McCoy, someone one that could use the override, but instead it was the Lieutenant. He had given her the access code days ago, so that she could retrieve the lyre for her own use. He never considered that she might happen upon him in a state of undress.

She stood just inside the doorway, pinning him with an accusatory look. She was still wearing her earpiece, her moist eyes glittering in the low reddish light of his quarters.

"You took a big chance. Disobeying general orders, locking in the computer controls, you took over the whole ship…you were so very careful." She blinked and swallowed audibly. "Starfleet—Starfleet could have ordered your execution." Her breath shook as she inhaled. He wasn't sure why she was retelling the events of the day, when he surely knew them better than she did. He found himself nodding anyway. "No one could have stopped them either. Not the Captain, nobody. Just an injection and that's it."

"I am not sure what you want me to say."

"I don't know what I want you to say either. But I—"she lowered her head and wrung her hands in front of her. "I would have helped you." Her voice was so quiet, he almost didn't hear her. As it was, he was certain that he couldn't have heard her correctly.

"You seem upset. You are not fully aware of the implications of what you are saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying. I would have faked that transmission for you—backed you up… and all those falsified orders, I would have done it if you'd asked. You didn't have to do that alone."

"I did not wish to endanger anyone else's life or career. It was solely my idea and solely my responsibility."

"I watched them arrest you and thought it was going to be the last time I saw you!" She snapped. "You being escorted out by two armed guards like some kind of criminal!"

"At the time, I was."

"Oh, don't get cute. I had to stand there, helpless."

"I am uncertain as to why this experience has affected you so deeply when you were largely uninvolved."

"Uninvolved? I am your friend! We are..." she paused as if searching for a more actuate descriptor. "Friends," she finished on a hiss. "If something happens to you, what do you think happens to this ship? To all the people who care about you, to Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy and—and…" another pause in which her tone changed from urgent to nearly cavalier. "Christine would just fold up and blow away—poof, stardust."

Recognizing her distress, he closed the distance between them and looked down into her eyes. Her lip was quivering, but she was fighting it gallantly. "It would seem I escaped a formal reprimand only to be chastised by a subordinate officer. This has indeed been a strange day. But please tell me, what exactly I am being chastised for? Do you disagree with my mission or my methods?"

"I don't know." She breathed. "What you did for Captain Pike was wonderful, loyal and so _you_… risking everything for someone you admire. But Spock—Mr. Spock, I would have helped you."

"You would have gone to the injection chamber with me?" Incredulity crept into his usually neutral tone.

"Yes." The word came fasted and surer than either of them was expecting. "Because we're friends."

"I do not require that my friends die at my side."

"But a real friend would, in a heartbeat."

"A heartbeat? Are you attempting to use that as a measurement of time?"

"It's an expression, but in essence yes."

"Then I must ask, a human heartbeat or a Vulcan heartbeat?

"Which one is faster?"

"Vulcan."

"How fast?"

"Mine, on average, is 265 BPM."

"Then as fast as that, maybe quicker. It doesn't matter. Just please, don't do anything that dangerous again…not without recruiting me."

"I will not make any such promise, Ms. Uhura." He laid his hand over the fabric of her sleeve. Humans often found physical contact to be comforting. "I could not. But I appreciate your declaration of friendship and will keep it mind."

"You're trying to pacify me."

"No."

She squinted, as if testing the validity of his statements. His face was blank, but his eyes were sincere. Just as she was about to put her hands on his shoulders in surrender, she realized that there was no layer of fabric to protect her from his telepathic skin.

He was shirtless. Why hadn't she noticed before? Why hadn't he booted her out of his quarters directly and gotten to work on the write up she probably deserved now? Did he not care? Maybe nudity—or partial nudity— wasn't one of the 1001 hang ups that his people had. Regardless, she was unprepared for the sight of his broad and defined chest, the smattering of hair splashed across it or the tickets to his proverbial gun show.

She let her hands hang dumbly at her sides and tried to devise a way out of there that involved her dignity. She decided that sass would get her out of this jam as well as it had gotten her out of the countless other situations she got herself into. "Well, _Commander." _She let her eyes wander easily to the place where he was touching her. "It's obvious that you weren't anticipating company." She gestured vaguely to his bare skin.

"Just because I was not anticipating it does not mean I do not welcome it." His voice was cool, but he moved his hands to clasp behind his back. She had not been expecting that. He was supposed to nod and walk away, give her a curt, "Lieutenant" and send her on her way before he changed his key code to something extremely difficult to remember.

"Maybe another time."

"Very well. Good evening, Lieutenant."

"Goodnight, Sir."

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><p><strong>AN:** I have been very bad at replying to reviews and am trying to remedy that. Thanks so much for sticking with me anyway. I really hope you like this chapter since I enjoyed writing it, but if you think it fell sort or overshot, let me know please.

I don't own ST even though that would be really cool. I write all of this just for fun!

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **All of your reviews, favorites and follows are deeply appreciated. This chapter is meant to feel very laid back and comfortable with a little underlying tension. I really enjoyed getting this one out. So if it delivers for you (or even if it doesn't) please let me know.

**The first half of this chapter draws on the events of season 1 episode 17 "The Galileo Seven." And supplementary information on Samuel Boma is taken for Memory Alpha. **

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><p>Uhura was in the Observation Deck lounge, listening to the Vulcan music that Spock had given her when she felt a firm but unthreatening hand gently squeeze her shoulder. She dropped her head back and grinned at her guest. She hadn't expected company at this hour, but then again, the alpha shift crew was usually restless at this time. They were still en route to Mockus III and the loss of their fellow crewmen was weighing heavily on everyone as it always did. And personally, she was still dealing with Janice's abrupt transfer.<p>

She slid her padded headphones down around her neck and paused the music. She drew her legs up, so she only occupied one cushion of the plush crushed velvet sofa. Scotty accepted her invitation, rounding the couch and coming to sit next to her. He was carrying a small tumbler and a bottle of whisky. After he sat, he poured a little into the glass and handed it to her. The gentle curl of her lips was thanks enough for him.

"I wasn't expecting to see you up here tonight, Lass. The Captain told me how they put you to work. I thought you'd be out like a light by now." He smiled, but it didn't make it anywhere near his eyes.

"Sleep's not going to happen, not for a while anyway. Are you okay? It was much harder on that planet than up here." She swiveled the glass with a graceful, elegant swirl of her thin wrist, watching the amber liquid dance in the cup.

"I'm alright...it could be much worse, don't you think?" She sighed and nodded, turning to look out the window. The sky really had no right to look so peaceful, when it was constantly burning and bursting and spinning and expanding.

His voice broke her musings. "I've seen you around with Mr. Boma…"

"Samuel? We had lunch a few times, it's nothing special. It's nothing at all really."

"That's good. I'm going to have to... uh…I'm going to have to court martial him, Lass."

"Why? What did he do?"

"He was outright insubordinate, and xenophobic to Mr. Spock. If you had been there, you'd understand."

"I think I understand. I saw how Stiles treated Mr. Spock when we engaged the Romulans. And Samuel rubbed me the wrong way anyway. He called me Baby and Sweetheart, even though I don't know him that well."

"I still feel bad doing it. He's a brilliant astrophysicist."

"That doesn't make him a good officer, Scotty. Four years in the Academy doesn't make somebody space worthy. Insubordination, in the wrong circumstances, could cost someone their lives. There's just no room for someone like that on this ship." She took a swig of the drink and hissed at the unfamiliar burn, shaking her head.

"That's smooth stuff, Lass. You're a lightweight." He took a drink directly from the bottle. She chuckled softly.

"You're doing the right thing." She added, hopping she sounded more helpful than she felt.

"I'm doing my duty as an officer, so aye; I'm doing the right thing."

There was a long companionable silence before she spoke again. "How did—how did Mr. Spock react? Did he show any emotion at all behind Boma's…attack?"

"No, it was worse than that. He was confused. He didn't understand why—if he was making all the carefully calculated, logical decisions—two people were dead and everyone else was increasingly irritable toward him. I would have felt better if he had laid him out like the captain would've. But uncertainty on a Vulcan…scares you to death." He took another deep gulp of the whisky, looking horrified.

The feeling was mutual.

In the weeks they had been studying, Spock had never been unclear or unkind. She liked knowing exactly was expected of her. And even in his efficiency, he was indulgent of her. He answered her questions patiently and in detail, going much further than anyone else would have bothered to. The lessons often morphed into discussions of his culture or hers. They always tried to draw on the similarities first and then focused on what about the differences could be enriching. He taught her Vulcan phrase and she reciprocated in Swahili. Occasionally, he graced her with his almost-smile, but more often she caught the glitter of amusement in his eyes. The thought of having that replaced with confusion of all things made her chest clench.

She threw back the rest of the glass's contents and winced with the effort. Without a word, Scotty drizzled more in the container. She shifted so that her shoulder came to rest against his chest. He dipped his head to rest against hers, his arm wrapping around her body as she settled back.

She looked up into his dark eyes that were obviously still troubled and raised her glass. "To a qualified crew, Mr. Scott."

"To beautiful communications officers with good heads on their shoulders." He tapped the bottle against the cup and turned away before taking another mouthful.

* * *

><p>She and her instrumental teacher had gotten rather familiar with each other. They had disposed of many formalities a while ago. Neither felt the need to offer a "hello," or "good morning" before initiating a conversation. He was Spock and she was Nyota. He no longer went rigid when she laid a casual hand on his shoulder, or sleeve covered wrist, but she respected him enough to avoid direct skin to skin contact. But the fact that it was so off limits made it that much more appealing. Sometimes she thought that all it would take was a slip, a miscalculation on either of their parts and she'd know. She'd know what kind of magic he kept in the hands that could render a man unconscious or see inside another's mind. It was like he was written in code she was just starting to understand. She could read the individual words, but the message as a whole was still obscured to her.<p>

She was considering this as she sat next to him in his quarters. Thanks to her ingenious hook-up, they were live streaming a concert of Vulcan music directly from Sri'Kahr. She thought briefly that it she was sitting with one of her other friends, there would probably be some kind of snack between them that they would dip into without a second thought. If their hands touched, so be it. But he wasn't like any friend she's ever had.

They had lowered the lights in order to replicate the atmosphere of a darkened concert hall. He adjusted the temperature controls to make it feel like one of his planet's more mild evenings, which felt like a warm summer night back in Mozambique. She watched the screen in front of them and he tried not to watch the way the hazy, bluish light played against her facial features. Her expression was intent, her brow just a bit furrowed, her lips the tiniest bit parted. Her respiration was elevated and he noticed the goose bumps on her arms.

The artist, who was playing something like a Vulcan cello, moved her bow slowly over the strings, bringing forth a long wailing note. Nyota's eyes rolled back for just a second before her eyelids fluttered shut. Her head fell back slowly and she let out a sigh.

He looked away quickly, feeling like he was intruding on one of her private moments. She was so captivated; it was likely that she had forgotten his presence. Moreover, her emotionalism was unsettling to him. How could she be feeling a song that was not composed for that purpose at all? He admired the technical merit and the flawless execution of the piece, but that was his only response.

He felt a light pressure on his right knee and felt her lean into him. He tilted his head to hear her whispered voice, as if they were really sitting in the back of the auditorium.

"She's wonderful." He nodded; a bit mystified as to why she felt this was the most appropriate time to vocalize that particular point. But before he could arrive at a satisfying answer, she entered his personal space again, moving so close that her breath mimicked the sensation of the most silken lips against his ear. He chocked down a shudder. "But I still prefer the way you play."

Their eyes met, taking a minute to compensate for the dim and the proximity. He spoke more softly than he ever had in his life and the bass of his voice reverberated in her own chest. "You gratify me, Nyota."

He smelled like cinnamon and clove and the air that caressed her ear was hot. She needed to stop thinking about him in this context. It had taken a great deal of time to get him this comfortable around her. He trusted her enough to call her a friend and she wasn't going to ruin that by lusting after him. She would just have to accept that Spock was a sexy man. Her friend was very sexy and there wasn't anything she could do except get over it!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and gave me your opinions. I appreciate them and they keep me on my toes. I know it's a short wait between the two chapters and I don't want to overwhelm anyone, but I think the next one may take a bit of time so I wanted to get this one out.

This chapter isn't built around any specific episode but draws on information about Dr. Rota Sevrin who appeared in the third season of the show in the episode "The Way to Eden." By that time, Spock was already aware of him and his message so I figured it was safe to talk about at this juncture in my story. Dr. Lern Denna is my own creation. She does not appear anywhere in the show or cannon, neither does the Interstellar Institute of Communications. But I thought it was totally in the realm of possibility.

As Usual, if this hits home for you, or even if it misses the mark, let me know. I'm interested either way.

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><p>Spock woke and donned his robes to complete his morning meditations. Experience taught him his day would either be taxing or tedious and he needed to be equipped for that.<p>

He also needed to be equipped to handle Nyota. The level of comfort he felt in her presence could be his undoing. She didn't mind his apparent aloofness, nor did she find his infrequent enthusiasm on one subject or another to be disconcerting. She had that sterling quality of human adaptability. Whatever state he was in, her demeanor complimented it.

She was the only person on the ship he could speak any Vulcan to. She picked up languages quickly and already had a mastery over basic phrases—she understood more than she could articulate. But in true Nyota fashion, she hated the idea of mispronouncing a word, looking foolish because of using improper grammar. So she hung on everything he said. It wasn't rare that he would catch her watching his mouth, moving her own lips to try and mimic the sound. That inevitably produced an image of their mouths moving in unison for a completely different reason, but he suppressed it.

She listened to Vulcan news broadcasts and watched documentaries made by his people. She requested the music theory text he'd given her in the original language and read it alongside the translation. Sometime she would only need to point to an object for him to say the name of the thing in his mother tongue.

He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to show her, teach her, everything that he knew. Perhaps it was the look of utter fascination she wore when instructed her and she grasped the concept. The way her eyes shone and her expression dissolved into utter euphoria. Or maybe it was that she owned everything she knew, viewed it and applied it in a very personal way. She was unapologetically singular and he respected her immeasurably for it.

They had gotten into a habit of taking breakfast together. Often, they would make it to the mess hall earlier than other officers and be alone. It was in these moments in particular that Spock had to remind himself that he had neither the right nor the freedom to lay claim to this woman.

"Good morning, Sunshine." She greeted as he entered the room. The lights were on automatic control and set to replicate the soft tones of early dawn, this flattered her immensely.

"Good morning." He sat across from her and sipped the plomeek tea that she had waiting for him.

"Did it synthesize right this time?"

"Indeed. It is more palatable than before."

"Good. I swear I'll try it one of these days."

"That is the fourth time you have taken such an oath."

"I know, I'm terrible."

After a brief moment, he rose to get their meal from the machine, forcing himself to ignore how oddly domestic this all was, especially given his people's customs regarding serving sustenance to another. When he returned, she was cuing up something on the PADD that she'd brought to the table.

"A lecture." She explained. "Given by a dedicated student of Dr. Rota Sevrin. He _was_ a brilliant research engineer, pioneering work in fields like acoustics, communications and electronics. He's gone a bit" she whistled like a coo-coo clock to denote some level of mental absence. "But Dr. Lern Denna has continued his research and she just lectured at the Interstellar Institute of Communication on Lunar Colony. And thanks to a friend, I got a copy. Do you want to listen to it with me?"

"Yes, however I am familiar with Doctor Sevrin and I believe that his message is not without merit, even if his methods are extreme."

She bobbed her head in very non-committal way. "His technological vision is indisputable. It could be that it has translated its self to his new calling. Perhaps he's just misunderstood."

"It is not difficult to be misunderstood." His eyes dropped for just a second and had she not been watching so intently, she would have missed it. Sometimes she was so enamored by him, she forgot about the discrimination he'd suffered. It was incomprehensible to her now, that someone would forgo trying to know this man and be content to label him with a red stamp that said "NOT LIKE US," or that someone would be so lazy as to categorize him as simply Vulcan or Human. She didn't think about any of that anymore. She'd learned to read his little tells and even if he didn't emote, she was able to decipher what affected him, and sometimes she even knew how.

Her hand slid across the table, instinctively wanting to comfort him, but her better judgment stopped her fingers just millimeters from his.

"Greatness is often mocked by those who do not have the ability to comprehend it." She said, looking him directly in the eye, hoping she was making herself clear. The quirk of his brow let her know he'd gotten her meaning. "Shall I play it?"

"Please."

They listened in relative silence, save the scrape of a fork against a plate or the plunk of a cup hitting the table's surface. When the lecturer presented a point of particular interest, they would lock eyes. She would smile, nod, or frown in contemplation. His expression remained the same throughout.

When other crew members began to populate the hall, she took out two pairs of wireless earbuds, having anticipated such an event. Again, they found themselves in a position where they were—in one way or another—apart from everyone else. He never understood the oxymoron "alone together," until right then. A renegade thought informed him that they were parted from one another and never parted. Always and never touching and touched.


	6. Chapter 6

It was late, according to the ship's chronometer, but Uhura was still in Spock's room. She had gotten into the habit of sitting on the bed which was only logical since it was the most comfortable surface available and she was spending long hours practicing. He could sit just about anywhere, and at present, he was perfectly content to be in the wooden frame chair at the foot of the bed.

She was working on the most advanced piece he had yet to present her with while he browsed an online shop for a ka'athyra that would suit her. She was at the point where she would benefit from having her own.

"You understand that is not the optimal way to purchase this instrument. Preferably, one would be on Vulcan and have the opportunity to commission an artisan. One who's family has been crafting them for some time."

"Is that how you got this one?" She asked, her fingers going still on the strings, perching her chin against the arm of it.

"I can only assume that it was originally crafted by an artisan. It was given to me by my grandfather Skon, who inherited it from his father Solkar. Truly, I have no idea how many generations it has been in my family." Her expression changed and she held the thing in her hands with even more reverence. She grinned warmly at him but he was unsure why that particular factoid should cause such a reaction.

"Thank you for trusting me with it."

"Thanks are unnecessary and therefore illogical. Here," he handed her the PADD he'd been giving attention to. "Perhaps this one?"

"I don't know, is it any good?"

"It is slightly smaller and lighter; I believe that you would find that more accommodating. The wood is very low maintenance but will still require some occasional treatment which I can show you how to do. Unfortunately, beyond the customer evaluations, I cannot ascertain the quality of its manufacture."

She glanced at the screen expecting to see the satisfaction rating in stars, but instead found a long list of reviews, many of which just said "Adequate," or "Acceptable."

"Vulcans don't use stars when rating a product, huh?"

"Why would we? That is a woefully inaccurate system. How can satisfaction be measured in metaphorical stars?"

She chuckled and looked back at the device. "I trust you. Whatever you think is best, I'll get that one." She gave it back to him and he came as close to looking annoyed as he ever did. "What's the matter?"

"I am not entirely comfortable ordering this online. This feedback is hardly specific. I cannot even be sure that those who have given their opinion have enough technical knowledge to make such claims. These could have been left here by novices."

"I'm a novice, Spock."

"No, you play at an intermediate level."

"Really?!"

"Yes. Now continue, starting from the second verse."

She did as she was told, happily. It was the hardest piece, but by far the most beautiful and she had become somewhat obsessed with it. He told her that it was an ancient composition from before the time of awakening. She knew he couldn't argue her down about the emotion that went into it and that made her love it even more. He was holding back the lyrics until she mastered the song, citing that humans worked harder when motivated by some reward. She disagreed, saying that as an officer, hard work was its own reward, but he showed no signs of giving in early.

"How was that?"

"There is much room for improvement," he replied without glancing at her. She groaned and sat the lyre aside before running a hand over her face.

"Are you finished?"

"For the night, I am. I have to lead a department meeting before duty and I have a recalibration scheduled for tomorrow. I think I'll have to take a rain check on breakfast."

"Rain check—an assurance of a deferred extension of an offer."

"Uh-huh."

"Very well." She stood and crossed the room to hang the instrument in its proper place before moving toward the door. He stood and joined her near the exit. "I believe it is a human custom to escort one's guest to the door upon their departure."

"Look at you and your knowledge of earth etiquette. My compliments, Commander." The lack of distance between them was killing her. She could feel the heat pour off of him and she had to tilt her head back to see his face, which was dizzying in more way than one. And he regarded her so single mindedly, like she was the only thing that mattered. She could almost delude herself into thinking he felt that way—or any way—about her. She could almost imagine him leaning easily against the door frame, reaching out to cup her face and placing a lingering kiss to her lips. He would probably taste like spice tea.

She shook her head to clear it and smiled up at him, her expression much more dreamy than she would ever consciously allow it to be. It was that face that unnerved him. There were very few things he would be able to refuse her when she gave him that look of total bliss.

They stared at each other for a long moment, listening to the sound of the other's breath. The knowledge that she should be leaving did nothing to motivate either of them to move. She stepped closer to him, chastising herself for this breech of his personal space, but doing nothing to correct it.

"I would be safer in the flames." He said, completely confusing her.

"Spock?"

"The first lyric." She could feel his breath against her lips and fought a losing battle against a shiver. "I would be safer in the flames than in your presence. For you consume me more fully." Subconsciously, he calculated the best angle from which to kiss her and adjusted his head accordingly. All he would have to do now was lean forward. "I have been engulfed and overcome."

Her gaze moved from his eyes to their hands, hanging dangerously close between them. Tentatively, she brushed her fingertips against his. It was like a low voltage shock, but it moved across every nerve in her body at lightning speed.

The brief flash of her mind was effervescent, like the champagne that Captain Pike made him drink when they first shipped out. Never had a human mind reached out and grabbed him like hers had. Most of them lay dormant and waited for entrance; hers invited him, called to him. Even now, when they were no longer in contact, it tugged at him.

"I'm sorry. That was…" he silenced her by wrapping her hand in his, lacing their fingers. He sensed relief and so much trust that it was humbling. And despite the fact that he'd never exchanged thoughts with her, it all felt so familiar. It wasn't a substantial linking of minds, but he could just make out her mental layout, like an open floor plan, one thought leading easily into another.

He was completely compartmentalized, like an office building where each room had individual environmental controls. There were no images, but she felt the deep fondness he had for her that bordered on affinity. There was contentment in him that was so encompassing it was alien, she'd never been able to achieve that level of inner peace, but somehow that too was associated to her.

She buttressed herself on his chest, trying to regulate her respiration. Her free arm circled around him. "It's okay for friends to hug." She whispered into his shirt. "It's another earth custom." He didn't move but she wasn't surprised or offended. "It's okay, we'll get there." She chuckled, her body shaking gently against his. His human half rattled against its cage, screaming at him to hold her, but the Vulcan inside him was preventing that from happening.

"I'll see you tomorrow." She said, leaning back and beaming. Her joy and warmth washed over him, infusing themselves into his bloodstream.

"I will honor your rain check should you choose to redeem it at dinner."

"Sounds like a plan." She pressed a kiss to his forehead over his bluntly cut hair before retreating into the hallway.

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><p>AN: So they finally touched...hope this hit home. If It did or if it didn't let me know, I'm interested. TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This chapter takes place directly after the events depicted in the first episode of the second season, "The Amok Time."** I had to do something to address this situation but I also didn't want it to be a huge part of my story line. So this is a result of that line of thinking. It gets a bit tense between our two leads but don't distress, it's probably the most combative these two will ever get with each other. Enjoy.

* * *

><p>The fever came upon him suddenly. He genuinely hoped that he would be spared, that for the first time, his human heritage would lend reason and dilute his Vulcan blood. But it hadn't and he was tossed into the unforgiving flames just like every other male of his race.<p>

Once the madness had passed, Jim was kind enough to inform him of his actions over the last few days. It quickly became apparent that he owed the nurse an apology, which he offered sincerely but succinctly directly after his shift ended.

Then there was the business of setting his room back to right. The cleanup was relatively easy, and thankfully he hadn't destroyed any priceless artifacts. He only needed to replace the smashed monitor. Once it had been taken care of, he showered and changed in anticipation for Nyota's arrival—which was only a few minutes away.

But those moments came and went, which was strange. She was always on time, if not early. More than once he'd encountered her counseling a member of her team on their timeliness and she never failed to mention whether those under her command were habitually prompt or tardy in her performance evaluations. Lateness was totally out of character. He could only assume that she was being detained by some emergency.

He made his way to her quarters down the hall. Three times he chimed and three times she didn't answer. Swallowing a rather large lump or worry, he keyed in his executive override and entered the room only to find it empty.

He scanned his memory quickly for places she frequented while off duty. But she was not in the rec room, the bowling alley, the ship store, nor was she at the pool.

Finally, he encountered Sulu in the hall. "Lieutenant, have you seen Ms. Uhura?"

"Isn't she usually with you around this time?"

"If she were with me there would be no reason for me to be looking for her, Mr. Sulu."

"Well…she and Chekov left the bridge at the same time. She was supposed to be giving him dance lessons before she went to her lesson with you. He doesn't want to make a fool out of himself at the inaugural ball on Altair 6. Maybe he needs more help than she thought." He chuckled.

"Thank you."

The ensign was in his room practicing a waltz while the appropriate music played in the background. He never stopped dancing, but did answer Spock's question. "She _was_ here, but she left a while ago. I assumed she was going to meet you, Commander."

This was a starship. There were a limited number of places she could reasonably be. But he couldn't be assured of her safety until he found her. It was a fairly simple task to formulate a secondary list of likely locations. If that didn't work, he would go a third round, and so on.

On his way to the long range sensor lab, he passed the armory and heard a frustrated grunt that he recognized.

Nyota was there, in dark jeans that fit her as well as her own skin and a standard issue-shirt, firing a phaser and the illuminated spherical targets that swarmed above her head. She dropped some of them in the allotted ten seconds of the exercise, but she was more concerned about the ones she hadn't hit.

"C'mon Nyota!" She chastised. Intrigued, he stood just inside the room and watched her start another drill, increasing the difficulty level. More targets flooder the air over her. She squinted, concentrating, but her shots were still not as precise as they could have been.

Before she could start a new program, Spook armed himself and set the controls to two participants. She stiffened, watching him carefully as he got into position.

The first of the glowing objects appeared and he fired at it, a benign beam of light flashing past her head. This brought her out of whatever trance she'd slipped into. Together, they attacked the spheres, instinctively moving in tandem until they had all been sunk.

"What are you doing here?" She asked breathless, once it was over.

"I believe the right to ask that question is _mine_. You did not show for your lesson."

"I lost track of time." Her shoulders bobbed with apathy.

"I happen to know that you left Ensign Chekov's quarters in plenty of time."

She glared at him openly before turning to return her weapon to the locker. She was going to walk past him without a backward glance but he caught her by the arm, fettering her in place. "Let me go!" Nyota twisted, trying to wrench her arm free, but to no avail. "Spock, that's too tight."

He loosened his grip only slightly, but refused to take his gaze from her. "Is there some legitimate reason for you to be acting this way?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you." Again she tried to walk but he snatched her back, causing her to stagger into him. "Stop manhandling me!" Her free arm came up between them, pressing into his chest as she tried to wiggle away.

He released her; folding his hands behind his back, fighting his domineering Vulcan nature. He took a deep breath, trying to set aside the emotions that were rising in his throat like bile. Control was imperative. "Do not force me to pull rank, Nyota. It is unpleasant to resort to such tactics with a friend."

"It is also unpleasant to discover that your friend has a wife he never said anything about!"

"This is about T'Pring?" He asked, barely masking his bewilderment.

Her eyes narrowed at the sound of the other woman's name. "No, this isn't about _her_. It's about _you_ not telling _me_ that you were married."

"It was irrelevant."

Her lips tightened into a straight line. "I don't agree."

"Why does this make you so angry?"

"What?!"

"Why does the idea of me being married and not sharing this information with you make you so angry? None of my other friends had this reaction."

Confusion played on her face before she looked down and her posture deflated. "I don't know." A long silence nestled between them until she finally spoke again. "I think our _friendship_ will be changed by your marriage. I mean…most wives won't approve of the amount to time we spend together."

"I am not married."

"I don't understand. This morning when I asked you who she was you said—"

"My wife. And I regret that my statement was imprecise, but that is the nature of the bond that once existed between that one and myself. It was less than a marriage and yet more than a betrothal. Humans have no word to properly convey this concept. Since the bond was to be finalized just after the transmission, I believed it was better to identify her as my wife."

"Then she's your fiancé? You're _going _to marry her?"

"No. She wished to bond herself to another male and I decided to release her to him."

"Another male?! What other male?"

"I hardly see how—"

"Because unless it was Surak, I think Miss T'pring did herself a disservice." He blinked and she smiled. "Are you okay," Finally, her voice softened into something more recognizable and her expression melted into one of concern. "I mean with her choosing another man?"

"Very much so. She was selected for me by my father when I was only seven. I had not seen her in years. And since neither of us wished to be joined to the other, it was only logical to release her to her choice."

"Logical." She echoed.

"I apologize if I hurt you…when I grabbed you."

"No, you didn't. I uh… apologize for being difficult. But, I'm human, you know."

"I'd noticed."

"And sometimes I let my emotions get the better of me."

"As does the rest of your species."

"Are you still willing to give this illogical, emotional human her music lesson?" He nodded. "Do you forgive me?"

"To offer you forgiveness would imply that I was angry with you—which I was not."

"Is that your way of saying no harm no foul?"

"I suppose."

Her face broke into a wide grin that he found most comforting. His insides unknotted and he allowed his lips to lift at the corners infinitesimally. She wrapped herself around him and squeezed tightly. His body went rigid as his head darted from one side to the other, making sure they were still alone. "Nyota," he whispered, "this is a public area of the ship. Please, desist."

"Sorry." But there was no trace of remorse on her face. "After you," she gestured to the door and followed him out.

Knowing he was still single was more of a relief than it probably should have been. The feeling of betrayal that she'd been drowning in since this morning was her own invention. Spock had only offered her friendship. It was her fault for trying to take more and she had no one else to blame when she thought it had been taken away. But she could do nothing about the fluttering joy she felt looking at him as they walked down the hallway, knowing that he didn't belong to anyone else.

"Are you beaming down for the inaugural ball on Altair?"

"The entire bridge crew is required to attend. And as first officer, my presence is mandatory at several other related events."

"Don't sound so excited."

He stopped walking suddenly, looking at her with his head dropped to one side. "Did I sound excited?"

"Don't pretend you don't understand sarcasm. I know for a fact that you're quite proficient at it." She tugged on the fabric of his sleeve and he regained his stride, keeping his steps small for her sake. "Can you dance?"

"Vulcans do not dance, unless it is an important part of a particular ceremony and even those occasions are very few."

"Hmm, so generally, Vulcans don't dance."

"That is what I said."

"But you, Spock—Son of the earth woman Amanda Grayson—were you ever given instruction in traditional Terran dances?"

"Very carefully worded."

"I'm a communications officer; Starfleet pays me to be careful with my words. Now, stop avoiding my question, Mister."

"I, Spock—Son of the earth woman Amanda Grayson—was given instruction in traditional Terran dances. As a very young child. Yes, I can dance. And no, I will not."

"You're no fun," she accused as they crossed the threshold into his quarters.

"I never claimed to be." He handed her the instrument and waited for her to take her place on his bed. "Start with the warm up."

"Whatever you say, Sugar."

* * *

><p><strong>One More thing: Who's up for a party on Altair 6?<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I promised you a party and it's coming, but this fluff came to me in the meantime. It was going to be all one chapter but I didn't want the ball to feel like an afterthought so I'm giving it its own chapter (the next chapter!)

I know this came rather quickly. I hope that's not bothersome. I appreciate all the support this story has gotten. It's truly wonderful and I thank you. Hope you like this installment. **Short translation at the bottom.**

* * *

><p>Their short Vulcan layover made them miss the actual inauguration ceremony, but since it was just the new president swearing to uphold his duties, Nyota wasn't too disappointed. They would still get to attend the short lecture on the people that occupied the planet centuries prior to human colonization. Little was known about them, but the archaeological expeditions were giving up more information every day, so that would be interesting. She was particularly keen to see if they had gained any insight into their written language. There was a second talk scheduled after that on the strategic importance of the Altair system which she was thankfully not obligated to attend. She would leave that subject to Spock and the Captain.<p>

The crew would then be treated to a tour of a few culturally significant sights, which included the Altair Museum of Natural sciences, and the art museum. And once all that was done, they were invited the inaugural ball. A proper ball with gowns and dress uniforms and champagne.

Despite how anxious she was to start her day of "structured leave"—as she decided to call it—she couldn't bring herself to stop hovering over Lieutenant Palmer, who would be manning her station. "Now, there shouldn't be any trouble since this system was just stabilized, but _it was just stabilized_ so monitor the transmissions extremely carefully. If there is so much as a whisper of a Klingon transmission I want you to comm me. I'm taking my communicator and I'm going to keep it in my purse."

"Chief," Kirk called.

"Yes, Sir." She answered.

"Would you come on?" He gently tugged her toward the turbo lift. "Ms. Palmer can handle it." The door shut and she looked around to notice everyone had been waiting on her. "You're worse than a new mother leaving her baby for the first time."

"My station is my baby." Spock was behind her, but she knew for a fact that his eyebrow was cocked. "It won't be cold down there will it, Captain? My uniform isn't exactly built for extreme weather."

"It's early summer down there, Lieutenant. You have nothing to worry about."

Kirk's words were confirmed as soon as they materialized on the planet's surface. It was warm, like earth's late May/early June. There was a friendly breeze that played with her hair. The sun was bright, but unaggressive and the sky was a rich cornflower blue patterned sparsely with fluffy white clouds. She could hear birds chirping energetically, singing to each other.

She smiled from the pleasantness of the scene but also from the still novel feeling of having her feet firm on a planet that was not her own.

"Well Kirk, You always did know how to make an entrance."

"Admiral Komack." He replied, sounding official and shaking the other man's hand.

The ranking officer looked at Spock, probably wondering what made him so special that T'pau would call in a favor, but the Vulcan stared right back, and his unrelenting gaze made Komack look away. That's when he caught her eye.

"Uhura?"

"Good Morning, Admiral!" She crooned.

"You two know each other, Lieutenant?"

"Know her, Kirk? She was my comm officer before she was yours, back when I was still a captain."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Sir. How have you been, Admiral?"

"Better now that you're here," he held out his hand to her and clamped an arm around her shoulders once she was close enough. "How's duty treating you?"

"Better, now that you're here."

He laughed boisterously, a sound that Jim wasn't sure that man could make. "You haven't changed a bit. We'll catch up, later." He promised, releasing her and nodding to the stone paved road in front of them. "But we've got to get a move on to that lecture. Let's go, Kirk." He added, less amicably.

"I knew you had the magic touch," Scotty complimented as she fell back into line next to him. "You turned him into a teddy bear for a second there."

"He's not so bad. He's actually pretty sweet, once you get to know him."

"If you say so, Lass."

The first presentation was nothing short of captivating. Even more fun was mingling with the rest of the attendees once it was over. Komack took her around delightedly, like she was still part of his crew, introducing her to the upper echelon. Networking was never a bad thing, so she greeted every ambassador and Commodore that came her way, listening attentively to the small talk around her, graciously answering their questions about some of _Enterprise's _more newsworthy assignments.

"How do you like that, Spock?" Kirk asked, hanging in the back of the room near the refreshments.

"What's that Captain?"

"Komack and Uhura. She's my officer, so what's the idea?"

"Are you experiencing jealousy Captain? Surely you were not under the impression that you were her first and only commanding officer."

"That's not the point!"

"What is the point, Sir?"

"He doesn't know," Bones interjected. "It just irritates him."

"It does irritate me."

McCoy laughed, popping another finger sandwich in his mouth. The first officer tried not to stare, finding the act of eating with one's hands to be wholly distasteful.

"Stop watching them, Jim. It's not like he's gonna seduce her off the ship. Here, have something to eat."

He took half of the doctor's advice, finally fixing himself a snack plate, but he kept his eyes locked on the admiral and the lieutenant until the start of the next lecture, which she opted out of.

"Have fun." She taunted as she walked past Spock on her way out, grinning wickedly.

She and the rest of the Enterprise crew used the free time to check out the shore leave facilities, which were supposed to be excellent. Sulu and Chekov allowed her to talk them into mani-pedis, but Scotty was having none of it and Bones left with the other ships surgeons to take a tour of the hospital.

"I have never done this before," the ensign said, wiggling his fingers in the soaking bowl.

"I have. I always cut my nails too close, so I gave up trying and decided to leave it to the professionals," Hikaru admitted.

"You'll like it, Pavel. Trust me, girls like a man with nice hands."

"But soft hands?"

"Some do!"

"And you are still dancing the first dance with me, yes?"

"Of course. Although, thanks to the admiral, my dance card is totally full."

"Not that you mind," Sulu nudged her conspiringly.

"Well, somebody's got to dance with all those ambassadors, commodores, presidents and princes. And if any of those officials want to keep me in mind next time they're handing out recommendations or promotions …" she shrugged, "so be it."

* * *

><p>She stuck close to Spock at the Natural Science Museum since it seemed that he knew more than their tour guide. They ended up getting separated from the group because he spent too much time telling her about a particular species of bird. They walked unhurried, neither of them particularly concerned about getting back to the others.<p>

"You think we'll get in trouble for visiting the butterfly pavilion?"

"Trouble as in a formal reprimand? I highly doubt it."

"Then…"

The room was tropically warm, thick with native flora and fauna. The insects fluttered everywhere, showing off their colors and exquisite designs.

"Wow," she gawked.

"Interesting creatures."

"Look at this one," Uhura squatted in front of a neon pink flower to inspect a butterfly with stained glass wings that looked illuminated.

He crouched next to her gracefully. "This is the Cathedral butterfly, they are very rare. It is regrettable that I am without my tricorder. I would like to take scans." Just then, it took flight and landed on the crown of his head.

"Don't move. I think it likes you." She smiled widely.

"I will have to move eventually."

"Wait, let me take a picture."

"For what purpose?"

"Prosperity. Don't worry I won't show anyone." She snapped the shot, returned her camera to her purse and held her finger out as a perch. It rested on her lightly, and she gently brought it down to eye level.

"Do wish for me to capture the image?"

"Yeah, the camera's in the bag."

"My mother told me it was unacceptable for a male to go into a woman's purse for any purpose."

"I'm making an exception, now hurry!" He opened the small satchel and managed to fish out the camera without touching anything else and took the picture; just in time since it scurried off directly after. "That was amazing! Can you believe that? What are the odds?"

He opened his mouth to give her the exact statistics but she stopped him by laying her hand over his. She felt the spark of his consciousness and then the current of his mind move through her.

"It was rhetorical."

"Ah."

Taking advantage of having her hand, he got to his feet and pulled her up with him, but didn't let go right away.

"Tell me anyway," she whispered, stepping closer, stoking her thumb against his. He spouted some ridiculously long figure with a bunch of numbers behind the decimal that she didn't bother to process. "Fascinating," she whispered, curling her lips around each letter.

He dropped his head slightly, putting even less distance between them. His other hand flexed as he resisted the urge to reach out to further the contact, brush against her thoughts and hear her inner voice.

"We should rejoin the others." He informed her, straightening his posture and pacing back.

"Yeah. They might be on their way to the art museum by now. Zahal-tor Nash-veh."

"Your pronunciation has improved."

"Thank you!"

"Thanks are—"

"Illogical, yes, I know."

* * *

><p>Translation: <strong>Zahal-tor Nash-veh: <strong>Follow me (this one)


	9. Chapter 9

Kirk stood in the transporter room, adjusting his medals and smoothing out wrinkles that didn't exist. "Any lint or anything, Spock?"

"Immaculate, Captain."

"Good. Uhura's not going to be late is she?"

"That lass has a better internal clock than he does," scotty said from behind the console, nodding at the first officer. "There's still a few minutes, she'll be here."

"I've seen the dress," Sulu added. "It's worth the wait!"

Then they heard the running clack of high heels echoing down the hallway before they came to a sputtering halt just outside the door. Nyota sauntered in calmly, smiling slightly, giving them a moment to take it all in. She absolutely hated being the last one to arrive, but she was going to glitzy, interplanetary ball with six men who only needed to put on their dress shirts, so it was to be expected.

Her gown was cobalt blue and moved over her curves the way water flows over river rocks. The high neckline fell dramatically in the back with a cowl-like drape. And the whole thing sparkled with beads and crystals. Her hair was swept up into a neat chignon and her ensemble was completed by marcasite chandelier earrings and silver stilettos that shone like they were mirrored.

Bones gave her a low whistle as he crossed the room toward her. He took her hand and held it above her head, giving her an admiring twirl. His southern draw was more pronounced than it usually was when he said, "now, now, Ms. Uhura, I'm going to have to treat quite a few heart attack patients if you go down there looking like that."

"Just trying to keep you busy Doctor."

"You can keep me busy all you like." She swatted his arm playfully with her silver clutch.

"Aren't you going to compliment me Mr. Spock?" She prodded, putting herself a less than a foot in front of him.

"Your attire is…" He could think of an entire list of words, but none of them were the type of thing Vulcans ever said. "Very agreeable."

"_Very_ agreeable? Now I know I look good." She winked.

There was a generous crowd of reporters awaiting the guests' arrival and they were greeted with flashes, cheers and a flurry of questions that was impossible to sort through. The _Enterprise_ crew was front and center as the gold beam of transporter light solidified into figures. Kirk nodded to the other two captains and they led their crews inside.

The brand new presidential palace was a monument to modernism. In the foyer was a massive art installation, large panes of transparent aluminum with complex cutouts, each one trimmed in primary colors. The path to the ballroom was clearly defined by filaments of light that functioned very much like old fashion velvet ropes.

The first thing she noticed were the soaring ceilings, suspended catwalk lofts and the grand balcony that led to the gardens. Then the chandeliers that hung from nothing, the individual prismatic pieces shifting periodically to form a different shape. It changed from a cube to a cylinder as she stared.

"Fascinating." She felt Spock's heat long before she heard his voice and instinctively moved closer to him.

"How do they do that?"

"Most likely, some kind of anti-grav field, but I am unfamiliar with the specifics of the device."

"Sound about right. Do you think they'll have decent vegetarian menu?"

"As I understand it, the president is a vegetarian."

"Oh good. I was worried about that."

"You are not vegetarian."

"I know, but if there was nothing for you to eat, we'd have to sneak and get some take out." Something about the idea of the two of them sitting in a casual Altair restaurant in fancy dress appealed to him, but it was illogical so he forced the image out.

"Since you have been anticipating this evening for some time, it is fortunate that we do not have to take our leave early."

"You seem pretty comfortable. You've been to a lot of events like this, haven't you?"

"I have. My adolescence was filled with many such galas. I was often charged with entertaining the daughters of my father's counterparts."

She smirked at the thought of teenage Spock trying to keep some poor little girl occupied for the duration of a diplomatic affair. "Not you favorite assignment?"

"Hardly." He went on to recount the story of one of the last balls he went to prior to leaving for earth when one young lady made it her mission in life to touch the points of his ears. The alarm was still evident on his face; both his eyebrows vanishing into his hairline as he spoke.

"Can _I _touch them?"

"No."

"Come on…"

"No." She reached up anyway and had her wrist intercepted. She sensed a strange mixture of apprehension and anticipation. He lowered her hand, not letting it go. "Kroikah," he commanded quietly. He saw her smile fade and felt her playfulness drain so he put his other hand over hers. It was so cool and small and feminine. So unlike his own. His thumb moved over her skin languidly, her consciousness rolling over him like a fog. "It is not…seemly." He offered more gently.

"It's an ear, Spock."

"It is very sensitive." She bit her lip and looked him up and down. "Nyota…" He warned.

"Okay. I'll be good, I promise." She purred.

"Thank you."

Boisterous processional music filled the space and all the officers stood at attention out of habit. The president was announced and entered with his wife at his side, followed by the Vice President and Second Lady. The couples made a few rounds, welcoming the more important party goers especially the Star Fleet representatives who were a physical symbol of Federation support.

The guests were then shown to a dining room with acrylic furniture and black marble floors. The doors were open, letting the night in, the light wind making the candle light dance a bit faster. Nyota simply watched Spock watch the flame until they were served.

Afterward, everyone looked on from the sides of the ballroom while the president and his wife danced for the first time as the executive couple.

As soon as the floor was open to everyone else, Chekov had her out on it. She was happy to have such and eager partner and he'd clearly taken her instruction to heart. But at some point during their third dance, out of the corner of her eye, she spied who she knew was the president's niece standing alone by the wall. She was a pretty red-head about 19 and exuding nervousness and insecurity. "Pavel."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, you're dancing beautifully, but uh, look over there…without really looking."

"Oh!" He said, turning her and peeking over her shoulder.

"Yeah. Now why don't you go over there and give that wallflower some of your sunshine."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine."

The young lady smiled demurely and let the ensign lead her to the middle of the room, which made part of Uhura melt inside. And, she wasn't without a partner for long. One of the other communications officers was glad to fix that problem, as were some of the admirals and commodores she'd met earlier. Plus, Komack wasn't done with the introductions either.

She practically had a degree in party conversation and it was made infinitely easier by the interesting guests: singers, actors, poets, archeologists, historians, scientists, designers and artists. Most of the fun was up on the catwalks, so she was happy to mingle there, discussing everything under the sun with Altair's who's-who. Still, none of them were spectacular enough to stop her from looking down over the ballroom and locating Spock. Her ability to find him in such a packed room amazed even her. But every time she peered down, she zeroed in on his shiny black hair.

Eventually, he sensed her scrutiny and looked up at the same time.

"Excuse me ladies and gentlemen." He inclined his head to the crowd around him and walked away coolly.

She ignored the giddy feeling she got thinking he might be on his way to her. But he disappeared from view completely, for longer than it should have taken to make it to the upper level so she chastised herself for fanciful thinking and went back to taking advantage of her birds eye view.

"Nashaut." He greeted, laying a hand on her elbow.

"Hey, you." Spock passed her the glass of Champagne he'd brought her and their fingers touched, making her go all tingly. "Thank you."

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I am. Everyone looks magnificent. I've gotten some really fabulous pictures, including one with the president. It's…amazing. Are you? Enjoying yourself I mean."

"Large social gatherings do not typically appeal to me."

"But…"

He could tell her that he'd been surveying her and had been unable to take his eyes off her. He could say that watching the way her toned muscles moved under her smooth sepia skin had greatly increased his satisfaction with the evening. He could admit that he'd excused himself from the group because something in him decided that they had been apart long enough. Or that he'd touched her elbow because he _had_ to touch her and it was the most innocent place he could think of at the moment.

"That is all. Large social gatherings do not typically appeal to me."

She leaned against the railing, facing him, teasing the rim of the champagne flute with her middle finger. "Well something tells me you won't have to suffer like this too often over the next three years of the mission."

Suffer certainly was an appropriate word since his mind was bombarding him with images that he had little control over. Images of his pale hand trailing over her dark shoulder, followed closely by his lips. Images of her face contorted in ecstasy as he buried his head in the hollow of her neck and kissed her. Images of that dress pooled at her feet and her perfectly combed hair utterly destroyed by his attentions, spread across his pillow. Of their limbs twisted together.

"You are likely right. This is a rare occasion."

"Well, I guess that's okay. I didn't join the fleet for the glamour." She tipped her glass toward him before taking a sip. "I joined the fleet to do the most I could with my natural abilities."

"And so you have." He grasped the banister, placing his hand temptingly close to her hip.

She rested her hand on his forearm before leaning in, standing on tiptoe, whispering. "You want to take a walk?"

"Yes."

They went on to the balcony, but there were still people milling about so they walked farther until they were alone.

The gardens were dense but well-manicured. The path covered with tessellated stones of varying soft natural colors and little solar powered lamps that gave off a warm, dim light.

"That's better." She declared when the narrow walkway opened out into a clearing.

"I agree."

There was a temperate breeze rattling the leaves of the tress and carrying the scent of her perfume to him. It was a light floral fragrance, but mixed with her natural scent, which was pure like open air.

"I got some networking done tonight. There's a woman in there that Komack introduced me to, she's the dean of Altiar University and she offered me a teaching position at the close of the mission. I also got invited apply for a position as head of communications at starbase 9. A whole starbase!"

"Do you plan to pursue any of those avenues?" He forced his voice to stay even and disallowed any hint of concern.

"Maybe the teaching job once the mission is over, but there's no way I'm leaving you boys on that bridge by yourselves. You need my feminine touch."

"Indeed."

"Look," she exclaimed, pointing to the sky. "Altair has _two_ moons. Maybe you can borrow one of theirs."

"That is both illogical and impossible."

"Much like me, I suppose?" Her fingers traced over the medals on his chest while her eyes tore into him, so dark and hot that they were almost molten.

"Exactly like you."

"Shame your planet doesn't have a moon. You look so good in this light," she breathed, stepping in closer.

"As do you," he confessed, barely audible. His breath caught in his throat when she reached up and stroked his jaw.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Nyota?"

"Dance with me."

"I—"

"Please? There's no one here, no one will see."

"There is no music. We're so far from the house even I can no longer hear it."

"Doesn't matter."

He circled her waist and led her in a silent box step, listening to the sound of their shoes scrape the paving stones. Her hand moved, traveling up to brush the slant of his ear. He leaned into her touch before he could stop himself, feeling the simple gesture reverberate through his entire system. His head dipped until his forehead touched hers and they were sharing breath.

He allowed his grip to shift so that his skin was against the bare surface of her back. It was more temptation than he'd ever known and he wasn't equal to the challenge of not stroking her satin flesh. And it seemed that she was unable to restrain herself from carding her fingers through his hair.

She kissed his cheek. Then his jaw. And finally she pressed her mouth to his. He moved his lips against hers and they parted for him, allowing him the privilege of tasting her and he savored it, making a study of her tongue and mouth.

He matched their middle and index fingers and instantly his mind clicked into place with hers as easily as her body was currently melting into his. To kiss in the Vulcan and human way at once pulled at both halves of him and would probably have been his undoing had she not pulled away to restore her respiration.

"Nyota—"

"Are you about to give me a lesson in logic? Because if you are—"

He silenced her by capturing her mouth again, this time with more familiarity. He was a fast learner and he could think of no subject more stimulating than her at the moment. She was a quick study too, curling her digits around his, causing great sparks of telepathic energy.

There was so much desire passing between them, it was disorienting. His shields and controls were failing; red lights and warnings flashing everywhere and yet something more powerful, more fundamental, wouldn't allow him to care. Never had he experienced so much chaos and contentment at once.

At length, they pulled back. She continued to caress his face and his hands still roamed over her back. He left his eyes closed as he catalogued every detail of the moment, most especially, the feel and taste of her. "I believe," he began. "I should have done that some time ago."

"You're right as usual, Mr. Spock. And now, we have to make up for lost time." She pecked his lips.

"It is the only reasonable course of action." He responded in kind, enjoying this chaste exchange as much as the passionate encounter that came before.

"Simple logic." She murmured, pressing her lips to his before he could formulate another reply.

* * *

><p><strong>Translation: <strong>Nashaut: Greetings; hello (used only between mated individuals or extremely close friends)

**A/N: I hope that was worth the wait...If not let me know, I want your honest opinions.**


	10. Chapter 10

Uhura sat at the desktop in her room transferring her pictures from Altair, just the thought of it making her grin. She allowed herself fuzzy slippers and her academy sweats since she'd been decked out the night before. Kirk gave them the day off to reorient themselves to standard time. When they left the planet, it was well into the middle of the night, but back on the ship, all the clocks and lights were set to early morning. It made jet lag seem like child's play.

The computer prompted her to label the photos once they'd all been imported. She had no intention of flipping through all of them at the moment, but there were a couple that required her immediate attention. She isolated the one of Spock that she'd taken in the pavilion. He was starting directly into the camera, no expression on his face whatsoever. The butterfly sat on his head, proudly displaying its wings in profile, exuding the same dignity. She included the picture he'd taken of her, which made her snicker. She was looking at the bug on her finger, just a bit crossed eyed. Its wings were open, like it was waiting to embrace her.

As soon as the images were safely in their own folder, she locked it with a passcode. It was silly and sentimental, creating a digital album dedicated to the two of them, but it was also optimistic, so she did it anyway.

Once all the technical stuff had been taken care of, she went to the pool. The area was done in blue and white. The light glittered off the water, casting long dancing shadows on all the surfaces. There were some junior officers from the beta shift frolicking in the shallow end. A number of them were from her team and tried to salute her, but she waved them off casually, not wanting to spoil their fun.

She stripped off her cover up and pretended she didn't see the open mouth stares. Being off duty meant that she didn't have to wear the standard issue swim suit, so she opted for the one she'd brought from home, a white bandage-style monokini.

The water was perfectly warm, so she dipped all the way in, omitting a swim cap since she'd be washing her hair later anyway. For a while, she just waded, relishing the feeling of buoyancy and fluidity that one only gets when in the pool. Then she took a few slow laps, letting her body get used to motions.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted one of her ensigns, a girl from decryption, quiet, contemplative, and very particular about her work—always clocked in exactly on time. She was 20, a prodigy who had helped to develop code two before she was rewarded with a field assignment. She was outpacing also Uhura, which was unacceptable, so she increased her speed and was pleased when the ensign followed suit. It didn't take long until they were racing, silently agreeing on a competition.

Nyota moved with a furious rhythm and efficiency. She broke the surface as soon as her fingertips touched the tile only to find the girl already waiting for her.

She laughed brightly, shaking the water from her face and pushing her hair back. "Wow, Ensign Moon! That's impressive."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Oh, I'm not one of those female officers who likes to be called sir. Ma'am or Lieutenant, even Ms. Uhura does me just fine."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. You were pretty fast."

"I was an athlete back in school, emphasis on the _was_," her chuckle was interrupted by a pointed wheeze. "Communications chair will do that to you. I used to be able to do a triathlon."

"No offense, but you look like you're still plenty fit, Ma'am"

"I'm not about to take offense to that, Moon. How about another go?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

They went on for a while until they both agreed to call it quits. They moved to the adjacent hot tub to have a more relaxed conversation. Moon was the kind of person who only needed to be drawn out a little before they blossomed. She was still nervous about being out so far, but was enjoying her work. Uhura remembered those days and tried to put her at ease by recalling her earliest missions, before she ever got to see the bridge. They used to keep her down in the lab running code or recalibrating sensors and she would get nauseous every time the ship lurched.

On her first away mission— manning the universal translator on the planet Kolii—she had been kidnapped by an alien chancellor who thought she looked enough like her late daughter that she should be able to keep her.

"Did you really look like the daughter?"

"For individuals of two completely different species, we did look similar. But her daughter had two tiny cranial ridges just below her hairline on the right side—barely noticeable. The Chancellor was going to send me to a surgeon to get implants. And in a freakier coincidence, her daughter's name meant star in their language like mine does in my native Swahili."

"So how did you get out of it? Did Captain Komack come and save you?"

"No. Starfleet and the Federation were afraid to make any moves. Kolii has massive dilitium deposits. Komack was negotiating a trade agreement and my…adoption… was one of her terms. Basically, I had to convince her to let me go and still give us the crystals."

"How'd you manage that?"

"We talked and got to know each other—it's not like I was going anywhere. She had a lot of regrets and she opened up to me. She told me that she'd been controlling, that every detail of her child's life was always planned down to the minute. The daughter, Uè, wanted to go on an expedition to the Koliian Rainforest, but she forbade her because she thought it was too dangerous. But then Uè died in a hover car accident on her way to a charity brunch."

"How tragic."

"Absolutely. So I told her that the best way to honor her daughter's adventurous spirt was to let _me_ go and explore in her place—on a larger scale. And she was willing to support that exploration by supplying us with the crystals."

"And she let you go?"

"She did, but I check in with her every once in a while."

"That's kind of sweet…I guess…"

"She moved on from her grief. She's thinking much more rationally now, and she's really a very loving woman. I do care for her."

"So a terrifying mission turned into a lifelong friendship?"

"Don't they all," she quipped. "Ensign there is only one thing you need to have to survive in the communications department. Do you know what it is?"

"Uh, determination?"

"Yes…but no."

"Precision?"

The senior officer shook her head. "Hoshi Sato's autobiography. I'm going to send it to you and you're going to read it. You can consider that an order."

"Yes, ma'am!"

* * *

><p>Later, she settled in for the evening with a novel and a glass of wine. She'd considered going to Spock's room, but she decided against it after a little reflection. Uhura knew that she was an all-in kind of person. That quality of wholeheartedness had proved too much for some of her past love interests and Spock was Vulcan. Trying to go full speed ahead with him might actually throw the whole thing into reverse. So she wasn't going to push him or hang off him like a bad garment. She would give him space and maybe then whatever they were building wouldn't blow up in her face.<p>

She was deep into her book when her bell chimed. "Who is it?"

"Spock."

"Enter."

He was in one of his casual Vulcan outfits, a linen wrap tunic and loose fitting pants. She loved to see him in those clothes because he always seemed to be more himself when he wore them.

She scooted to one side of the bed and patted the other, setting her PADD down on the nightstand. He moved almost silently and came to sit on the bed, his knee grazing hers. "What brings you here, Commander?"

"I was unaware that I needed a specific reason to seek your company."

"You don't. You never will."

"I confess that I was expecting to see you earlier in the day."

"Well, I uh…didn't want to crowd you."

"I fail to see how one small female could ever constitute a crowd."

She smiled, laying her hand over his, feeling that instantaneous hum. "I mean…"

"I think I know what you mean."

"I don't want to be clingy. You see how affectionate I am with my _friends_…I can be worse. And your culture doesn't allow for such displays. Besides…A few kisses…I don't really know where that leaves us…I didn't want to assume."

"It leaves us here." He leaned forward and kissed her expertly, like he'd been doing it his entire life and not just since the night before. She tried to hold onto her wits but he was making it impossible. All her thoughts were liquefying and sloshing around. She was dazed when he pulled away and looked down at her with his deep, sparkling brown eyes.

"Okay," she said once she finally found her voice. "So I guess we're on the same page now."

"Indeed. In fact, it would be illogical for you to regress into shyness _now_, Nyota."

"Wouldn't it though?" She shifted, bringing her head to lie in his lap. He froze for a second, looking stunned. "Is this okay?"

"Yes, quite." He relaxed, allowing one hand to rest on her head, the other on her hip.

"Tell me something," she prompted.

"That is a vague request. Please specify."

"I don't know, just anything. A Vulcan bedtime story—if you have them."

"Parables." He corrected. "Occasionally, when a child is still learning control, a parent will relate a parable that emphasizes the need to employ logic or to suppress emotion."

"Really?"

"This surprises you? That Vulcans educate their children through story-telling?"

"I just can't imagine you getting tucked in and your father telling you a story."

"You mistake this practice with its human equivalent. I am privy to both and they are very dissimilar. There is no "tucking in," and it does not necessarily take place before the child goes to sleep—but it is usually the most opportune time since the parent can be assured of the child's undivided attention. Humans tell fairy tales, many of which have no readily discernible moral."

"Are you telling me that you didn't get the point of Jack and the Bean Stalk?"

"I understood it, but I found that it left much to be desired."

"Were you this much of a literary critic when you were little?"

"Yes."

She chuckled softly, a sound that he should probably have found distasteful, but it was much too soothing to be so.

"What else—what else about your childhood?"

"Despite my unusual dual heritage, my upbringing was typical for a Vulcan male. Shortly after my kahs-wan, I was bonded to T'pring—Kah-ka—"

"I'm already lost, Sugar. Khas-wan?"

She looked horrified as he explained his trek into the Vulcan forge. She'd watched at least three documentaries about the region and therefore had a grasp of how unforgiving it could be. The heat was extreme, even on a notoriously sweltering planet. The wild animals were vicious and the violent sand fires came on suddenly. She had trouble believing that his people sent their children there. But she seemed impressed as he told the story, regardless of the fact that he was not recounting the details with any flourish.

"At seven? That's extraordinary," she exclaimed.

"On the contrary, it is quite _ordinary_. All boys are required to undergo the ordeal and most survive."

"Most?!"

"Most."

"Not all?"

"Unfortunately."

She sighed exaggeratedly, like she herself had just been subject to some test of fitness. "So what's Kah-ka mean?"

"Literally it means the bond. More specifically, the marriage choice made by one's parents and the link established with that one."

"And that's gone now?"

"Indeed."

"So what else?"

"Unless you wish for me to expound on the instruction I received in meditation and control, there is little else."

"I don't know if I'm up for that tonight."

"I suspected as much." She laced their fingers where his hand rested on her hip. "I did have a pet," he added, deciding she might consider that to be an interesting fact.

"Oh? A cat or a dog?"

His face softened into one of his almost smiles. "Vulcans do not keep dogs or cats. I had a sehlat."

"Which is?"

"It is essentially a saber tooth bear. Mine was named I-Chaya."

"Your mother let you keep a saber tooth bear in the house?"

"No. I-Chaya was there before my mother. He belonged to my father first."

"Do you have pictures?"

He motioned for her to hand him the PADD on the nightstand and she did so before returning to her original positon. He logged into his cloud based storage service and accessed the pictures his mother had uploaded long ago. He'd never shown these to anyone and he never intended to, and yet all she had to do was ask.

She let out a squeal of delight as he surrendered the device to her. It was a picture of him, less than a year old, in infant sized robes, sleeping curled against I-Chaya, his massive paw drawing the baby in. "Look at you," she cooed in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable. She swiped to the next one. There he was older, just over a year, still knowing nothing of control. He was grinning at the animal as it yawned at him, his mouth open enough to swallow him whole.

There had to be hundreds of images of just the two of them. Most of them mundane but beautiful. His mother had filled the album with candids, realizing that all the posed ones would look the same. She had a talent for snapping the shot at just the right second and getting his ever fleeting expressions. She caught him scolding the animal for tearing open a bag of food. Captured them on the sofa, the sehlat stretched across the cushions, forcing a preteen Spock to use him as a makeshift desk. Showed them in silhouette, against the fiery Vulcan sky, him touching his pet's head affectionately.

The last photo in the feed was of I-Chaya alone, lying on Spock's bedroom floor. Uhura looked up at him, wordlessly asking permission to open the attached caption. He dropped his head in consent and she triggered the message.

COME HOME SOON. I-CHAYA MISSES YOU!

"This was attached to a communique from my mother. It is the last picture taken of I-Chaya. He died while I was at the academy."

"Oh, Spock," she whispered, rolling into an upright position. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It was many years ago." His eyes flickered down for just a second and he looked as close to saddened as she'd ever seen him.

She cupped his face with both hands and brought their foreheads together. "Tushah nash-veh k'du."

He nodded slowly, letting himself sigh. And she kissed him with as much sincerity as she could.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>AN:** **This took longer than my usual updates and that's mostly college is demanding lol. Your reviews have been super kind and I thank everyone. Now that I kept the flirtationship going for 9 chapters I get to have fun showing what I think an actual relationship between these two would be like when mixed with friends and duty. I hope this update resonates in one way or another, but I'm open to feedback if you don't feel like it does.**Regarding the death of I-Chaya:** Prior to the TAS episode Yesteryear, he did not die saving Spock during the kahs-wan. At this point in the story, the timeline had yet to altered so this is what I imagine happened originally.

**Translation:** Tushah nash-veh k'du: I grieve with thee.

TBC.


	11. Chapter 11

Spock, Uhura, Scotty and a small contingent of crewmen beamed down to Archer VIII to the Hawking research facility to deliver new equipment and help update the semi-antiquated systems. The machinery had gone ahead of them, but she was weighed down by a satchel full of manual tapes and tools.

They already had their assignments so as soon as they materialized she headed to the central communications lab. The bag dropped from her shoulder with a heavy thud as she struggled with an elastic headband to keep her hair back. She checked her PADD again, organizing her tasks to be able to get them done as efficiently as possible.

First she took inventory of what was there and what the Enterprise was required to drop off. The man in charge of the systems came in while she was kneeling on a chair, ticking items off her list.

"You're Starfleet?" He asked in place of a greeting.

"I'm Lieutenant Uhura, of the Starship Enterprise. Your latest Federation inspection found that your facility was in need of some significant upgrades. I'm here to bring your communications software and hardware up to standard. And you are?"

"Dylan Ford."

"Mr. Ford, it's my pleasure," she offered, painting on a smile and extending her hand. He shook it and flashed an equally unconvincing grin. One thing she's learned long ago was that people didn't like to have their things tampered with—whatever the reason was. But one thing he would learn today was that she didn't let anyone get in the way of her doing her job.

"Ms. Uhura."

"I assume that everyone was already instructed to back up their work, on tapes and wirelessly?"

"The director says that everyone's done it."

That answer seemed unsatisfactory, but she reminded herself that every institution was not run with the same militarized precision of the fleet. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and nodded instead. She sat at the main console, which looked too much like a switchboard. Quickly, she scanned her memory for this type of equipment. She remembered working with a similar system when she interned at an outpost during her academy days.

She flicked open her communicator and opened a frequency to Spock and Scotty. "This is Uhura. All intra-facility communications will be disabled in 30 seconds."

"Acknowledged," they answered almost simultaneously.

She shut down the system according to the factory instructions for uninstallation, which she had to bring up from memory. Ford was hovering and she could tell by his reflection in the monitor that he wasn't happy that she could handle his system so easily.

Eventually the whirr of the mechanism died down. She moved out of the way so the lab's maintenance crew could remove the old apparatus and her team could move the new stuff in. While they did that, she walked through the halls, checking the small intercom units. They would all have to be removed to make room for the newer panels, so she got to work on that, calling up to the ship for more hands from her department.

The morning was dominated by hardware, getting everything in place for the more technical work that afternoon. But before she couldn't even think about the amount of uploading and downloading that would take, she needed food. Archer VIII was a fully colonized planet, which meant finding food was as easy as going outside.

First, she located Spock in the basement, with the servers. The machines were massive, towering above even the commander. There were cables running along the ceiling and floor. The room should have been filled with the hum of moving parts but it was powered down and silent. He was standing in an aisle, staring at the junction to his right. There was a stylus behind his ear, his sleeves were rolled up, and he had two fingers pressed to his temples. He almost—_almost_—looked human.

"Here you are. This place is a bit spooky with most of the personnel gone."

"This operation is difficult enough without people loitering."

"They're all in for a surprise once this place reopens."

"They will need retraining."

"I'm not looking forward to it. The communications guy has a bee in his bonnet about this overhaul."

"I fail to see why the Federation is investing such a large sum into the refit of this lab considering no significant work has come out of here in more than fifteen years."

"Well, when it was good, it was great. Maybe that's why."

"It is illogical."

She smiled, because if she didn't know better, she might think he was complaining. "Lunch?" He nodded before packing up his tools and securing them in a nearby locker. In the meantime, she contacted Scotty and told him to meet them by the front entrance.

"If I didn't have asthma before," he began as soon as she and Spock stepped out the building. "I've got it now. You wouldn't believe the dust."

"I would," the first officer commiserated.

"What kind of food?"

"Whatever tickles your fancy, Lass. I don't care."

"You up for earth food, Commander?"

"That is acceptable."

They found a cute diner, less than a block away. The décor was 1950's themed, black and white tiled floors, red booths, chrome trimming, and a replica of a juke box. They slid into a faux leather booth that squeaked as she scooched in.

"Paper menus! They really went all out," Scott observed. "It's like going to the renaissance fair or something."

"Lieutenant, that is a completely different period in time." The engineer just shook his head and looked at the restaurant's offerings.

For the briefest second, she was tempted to engage Spock in a game of footsies, but then she remembered that they probably didn't do that where he was from and the whole thing would be lost on him. Instead, she did what everyone else was doing and examined her own menu.

The waitress came and took their orders. While they waited for their food, Uhura went over to the juke box, causing the Vulcan to have to scoot so she could get out. It was the least graceful thing she'd ever seen him do and she had to swallow a giggle. She made a mental note to get him into booths more often.

She had to go to the counter to exchange a fourth of a credit for an old style metal quarter which bought her three songs. Her music library on the ship was organized by decade and so she had a pretty clear idea of what she was looking for.

By the time she figured out how to work the thing and made the selections, their food had arrived. As she danced back to the table, she noticed that Spock and Scotty were leaned close, like they were conspiring. She only caught the last few words of the conversation.

"Aye, I can do that. It's not a problem."

"Thank you, Mr. Scott."

She would've asked what she missed, but knowing these two, they had just invented a way to increase engine efficiency 3000% and she didn't want to get either one of them started.

"Are you eating your fries with a fork?" She questioned when he stabbed at the pile of potatoes on his plate.

"Yes. Vulcan's do not eat with their hands. We are civilized."

"Alright, Mr. Civilized, how are you going to eat that Portobello burger without picking it up?" The other man teased.

He carefully carved the sandwich into even, bite-sized pieces, triumphantly put it on the fork and ate it.

"It's bad enough you're eating a mushroom on a bun! But to cut it up like that" he shuddered dramatically. "It's unnatural." Uhura snorted into her milkshake and gave Spock an apologetic smile.

Once they returned to the research center, she helped Spock to bring the server back online since she couldn't do any of her work until he had. They worked quietly, speaking only when necessary. With anyone else, she might have felt obligated to fill the silence, but she didn't have to be the perpetual entertainer when it was just them. She could relax.

When they were just about done with the task, his comm chirped. "Scott here. My work's done."

"Very well, Mr. Scott. You are free to go."

"Acknowledged."

"Nyota," the commander said without looking up from the screen in front of him. He'd never used her name on duty before and something about it gave her shivers. "You should go to the communications bay now. This…" he entered a few more keystrokes, "is done." The machinery roared to life with beeps, hums, and lights.

"Yes, Sir. I'll see you on the ship."

"Affirmative."

She wanted to kiss him, but she knew better, so she settled for letting her hand trail across his shoulder blades as she walked behind him to leave.

Getting communications up again was a cakewalk. It only took a couple of hours for all the computers in the facility to be on the same network and relaying information seamlessly. The hardest part was training Ford, who seemed be making an effort _not_ to learn. He made her want to scream, the way he kept pretending like the old way was somehow better.

"Ford! This is as superior to your old system as an email would be to a carrier pigeon. And you know what; it is the Federation standard for all government funded research facilities. So you don't have a choice!" She snapped after what seemed like forever. She was the last one; even the XO had gone home. It was broad daylight when she stared teaching this man, and now the sky was a dusky blue and the clouds were outlined in a hot sunset orange. It was beautiful, and yet she was stuck inside with him.

Finally he got his act together. It had taken all day, but she did her job.

The ship was capable of beaming her up from where she sat, but she felt suffocated and needed to be outside for at least a few seconds.

The air was cool, like early fall and there was a pleasant breeze for which she was thankful. She took a few deep breaths before requesting transport.

* * *

><p>The day had been taxing to say the least. But there were certain things that needed his attention. As soon as Spock beamed up, he went to Scott's quarters.<p>

"Did the shipping center give you any problems?"

"Not at all, here it is."

"Thank you."

"No problem!"

When he returned to his own room, he opened the carton and examined the contents. Everything had arrived unharmed. He had promised to confirm with his mother when the package came, so he sat at his comm unit to do just that.

She smiled as soon as the connection was established and as always, he had to force himself not to smile in return. "I assume this call means that you picked it up."

"Yes, thank you for your assistance, Mother."

"Anything for you. So how are you going to do it?" Amanda questioned excitedly.

"I do not understand."

"How are you going to present it to her? Spock, you had me go all the way to Sura'Kahr to order the thing, and then I had to ship it—express/fragile— to _Archer VIII_. You planned it all very carefully to make sure it would be ready by the time you got there. You aren't going to just thrust it at her!"

"Does it matter in what manner I present it?"

"To a human woman? Yes it matters! Now, I'm guessing that if you went through all this trouble, she must be important to you."

"Mother…"

"It's too late; I'm invested in this now. You will do this correctly."

"There is a correct and incorrect way of presenting someone with a gift?"

"Oh yes. It would be illogical to do this incorrectly, wouldn't it?" he listened as she elucidated on the finer points of gift exchange. It didn't seem difficult, just alien. But it was doable.

* * *

><p>Tired was an understatement. All she really wanted to do was flop face down on her bed and not move until the start of her next shift. But her computer was flashing with a message when she got back to her room. The only reason it didn't go ignored was because it was from Spock and it was written in Vulcan.<p>

MY QUARTERS. AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVINENCE.

It was just cryptic enough to make her curious. Still, she also wanted to address this as quickly as possible—whatever it was. So she went right away.

The lights were dimmer than usually and the air was spiced with the scent of candles. The beautiful song that she couldn't seem to master was playing softly in the background. He sat at his desk, fingers steepled in front of him, waiting.

"Hey."

"Good evening. Would you like something to drink?"

"Something relaxing?" he went over to the small synthesizer and came back with two glasses. "What's this?"

"Vulcan brandy." He leaned against the table, half sitting, half standing.

"I thought you didn't drink."

"Not usually. Alcohol does not intoxicate me."

"Will this intoxicate _me_?"

"Not in moderation."

She drank it cautiously. It was smooth and warming and she allowed it to spread through her. "That's nice."

He watched her intently, in the way that always made her blush, before he placed a hand on her hip and drew her closer. "I have something for you."

"For me?" She pecked his lips, unable to ignore their proximity.

"Yes." He mimicked her gesture.

"Well, where is it?"

"I require that you search for it."

"Here in the room?" He nodded.

She looked everywhere she could imagine, having no clue what it could even be. And he had the nerve to look mildly amused.

"I can't find it!"

"That is regrettable."

"Tell me where it is."

"No. Think. Where have you yet to look?"

"I've looked everywhere."

"Are you sure?"

She thought harder and realized that she hadn't looked under that bed. The whole idea of him _hiding _anything seemed so ridiculously unlikely that she hadn't considered the most obvious places.

The first thing she touched was clearly a pair of meditation slippers, so that wasn't it. But then her hand grazed something else. She dragged it out and placed in on top of the bed.

It was a wooden case with a gold inlay of Vulcan calligraphy. "Is this it?"

"Yes."

"What does this say?"

"Translated… directly into Swahili…" He sipped his beverage leisurely then sat the cup down beside him. "It says Nyota."

She beamed and undid the golden clasp, opening it reverently. Inside, nestled in emerald green velvet, was a ka'athyra, like his but slightly smaller. The wood was darker and shiner, newer. "Oh, Spock!"

"You find it agreeable?"

"Oh Spock!"

"I will take that as a yes."

"Yes, it's a yes! This is mine? How'd it get here—when—we were going to order it together!" She took the instrument out, plucked gently at the strings and started tuning it.

"None of those were satisfactory. I did research, contacted my mother, and had her commission the same family that crafted mine centuries ago." Uhura sat it back in the box, rising slowly, her eyes pricking with tears.

"This is…one of a kind? Made just for me? By the same—the same family?"

"Yes. Once it was done, knowing that we would be on the planet today, I had her send it there. While we were working, I asked Mr. Scotty to pick it up from the interstellar shipping center."

"You did _all that_?"

"It was logical. You have progressed admirably and deserve an instrument that reflects your efforts."

"Spock…"

"And, quite simply stated, I _wanted_ you to have it."

She crossed the room and feathered kisses across his face, before capturing his mouth. "You are so wonderful." She stroked her middle and index fingers against his—purposefully—feeling sincerity, desire and something that couldn't be what she hoped it was. The sensations from the link were heady, much more so than the drink. Neither of them had moved, and yet, inexplicably, it seemed like they were moving closer.

He made a sound that sounded a lot like a purr before he pulled away. "Your thoughts," he panted. "May I?"

"Of course." She replied ardently.

It wasn't a meld, there would have to be a serious and unhurried discussion before that happened. But he matched his fingertips to her more shallow receptors—two behind her ear and one on a pulse point on her neck. She shivered as he allowed his consciousness to settle next to hers and he tried not to delight in it too much.

She was bright, alive, and completely open to his presence. Never had he encountered one so unguarded. At present, her thoughts were diluted, like ink that had been exposed to water and the only legible word was his name, printed over and over again.

He'd been able to bridle his lust for her some time ago. This transcended that. Whatever emotion was currently surging through him was much more evolved and totally resistant to discipline.

His lips moved from her mouth to her neck as he continued to kiss her and she serenaded him with quiet moans and gasps. Her flesh was soft and cool and he relished how it yielded to the light scrape of his teeth. The taste of her skin was maddening and only served to compliment the flavor of her mouth like a well prepared gourmet dish.

They were both practically dizzy with want when he finally carried her to the bed.

"Wait!" Gingerly, she folded the wooded case and secured the catch. "Set it on the desk."

He moved as quickly as he possible could to rejoin her, picking up exactly where he left off.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So, I'll let you finish this particular installment with your imagination. Feedback makes me better so please don't hesitate to tell me what you think. I appreciate all of you who have read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story. Thank you so very much. TBC.


	12. Chapter 12

Spoke woke with his legs intertwined with Nyota's, his right arm trapped, the other wrapped around her. Her body fit his like it had been carved for that specific purpose.

There were 47 minutes and 22 seconds until they would have to report to their stations so he went about the process of waking her up. He allowed his lips to fall on her shoulder, her arm, the back of her neck, the crown of her head, her temple, behind her ear—any part of her he could reach without moving.

She stretched and hummed, snaking her arm up to touch his face as if reassuring herself of his presence. He nipped lightly at her earlobe to prove that he was really there. "We have 46 minutes and 12 seconds until start of shift." He murmured into her hair. She heaved a sigh and turned over so that her face was against his chest.

"You know if we had normal jobs, we could call out sick and stay here all day."

"I doubt I would be able to perpetrate such a deception, regardless of my profession."

She laughed lazily, the sound vibrating against him. "I should get up. The closer to shift, the harder it's going to be to get out of here unnoticed."

"Agreed."

But neither of them moved.

"You'll have to get up first. You have more willpower." He wasn't so sure of that at the moment, but he rose anyway, sliding on his slippers and crossing the room to retrieve his robe. She sat up with a groan, clutching the covers to herself. "It's so cold over here now." She rolled across the bed, grabbing her uniform off the floor. "Aw, you broke the zipper."

"It was uncooperative."

"And what, pray tell, do I wear back to my cabin?"

He looked in his closet. The bulk of his wardrobe was comprised of blue tunics and trousers that would never fit her. His Vulcan attire would attract too much attention. But his standard issue black T-shirt was a viable solution, since everyone had one regardless of rank or department. He also found a pair of pants with a drawstring.

"This perhaps?" He offered, holding it up to her. She had moved to stand behind him, cocooned in a sheet. She accepted them and shuffled into the bathroom to change.

"What do you think?" She asked, emerging from the other room, doing a spin. The clothes were big, but suitable to get her down the hall.

"Good enough."

"You're supposed to tell me that I look adorable." He raised his eyebrow and she smiled, patting him on the cheek. "It's okay; you don't have to tell me. I already know." She passed him the sheet in a wad and he placed it in the refresher with the rest of the bedclothes. "I still can't believe you did this," she said, running her fingers over the inscription on the harp case. "It's the most wonderful thing I have ever been given."

"I am pleased that you think so."

She smiled contentedly while collecting her things. "I'll see you on the bridge."

"Indeed."

Later, Uhura sat in the rec room, tucked in the corner that Spock usually occupied, playing her lyre. She had yet to master the song with the mysterious lyrics. He wouldn't even tell her the title, convinced that she would use that information to research the words herself—and he was right. The sheet music and corresponding audio file he'd sent her were marked untitled, so she decided to refer it as "Wimbo," which only meant song, but she had to call it as something.

She had in one wireless earbud, listening to the melody as she tried to match it. She didn't need Spock there to tell her that her technique required much improvement. The chord and key changes were much too fast, or rather, she was much too slow. Restarting the track, she played again from the top.

"Hey," Charlene said as she entered the room, carrying two cups of some steaming beverage.

"Hey," she replied, pausing the music and putting the ka'athyra gently in its case. "What do have there?"

"Oh! I ran into the head nurse—Chapel—when I was in the break room. She was in front of me in line for the synthesizer. She ordered a Vulcan mocha. So I asked her what it was and she said it was some kind of coffee thing, so I got one for me and one for you."

"I've never see Spock drink this before."

"Maybe he doesn't like it. You try it first."

"Oh no. We're going to try this together."

"Okay. One."

"Two."

"Three." They sipped in unison. It was a rich and extremely bold. "It's better than the regular coffee…maybe some cream and sugar…"

"That's not the mocha flavor I was expecting. I was expecting a mochaccino."

"Me too, but I like this." Masters took another swig of the beverage, looking into the cup with a mixture of satisfaction and surprise. "Is that new?" she asked, nodding toward the instrument on the table.

"Yes! It was a gift."

"Not from the commander?"

"Why not from the commander?"

"Because are gifts logical?"

"They must be. Oh, Charlene, it plays so beautifully."

"So play it."

She picked it up again and played through an earth song she knew she could ace. It came to her as easily as breathing. Before she knew it, she had an audience. It was the kind of song that everyone knew the words to. She hadn't meant to start a starship sing-along, but it happened anyway.

"Play us another one!" Riley cheered from the middle of the small crowd.

"Any requests?"

"Something dance-y," called another voice.

She picked up the tempo and went with a number that got everyone bopping and swaying, most of all Charlene, who stood up just to groove properly.

This went on until her break was almost up.

"Whew! Is it just me, or are you better on that one?"

"Possibly," she considered on the walk from the rec room to her quarters, where she was going to store the harp. "I adore this thing—the way it sounds, the way it feels to hold it, even the smell of the wood and the tremble of the strings under my fingers…"

"I used to think that you took those lessons just to get next to Mr. Spock. But you really enjoy the music don't you?"

"The last time anything moved me as much as the ka'athyra was in middle school when we had a starship crew visit. I thought they looked so wonderful in their pristine uniforms and when the captain used his communicator to call up to the ship, I practically swooned! And the first time I heard Mr. Spock play this thing, it felt like that—but more mature—like falling in love."

"With him or the music?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>They browsed through almost her entire catalog of Terran duets and the majority of them had been unsuitable. There was entirely too much romanticism for him to ever feel comfortable performing any of them.<p>

"What about something extremely old, so old that no one here could possibly know it? Old and obscure. Oh, how about the 22nd century, or the 21st?" She moved even closer to the monitor, navigating to the appropriate section of her library. "Maybe even the 20th century…"she mumbled more to herself than anything.

"We could do a Vulcan piece."

"No, we always go with your choice. I'm calling dibs this time."

"Dibs?"

"It means I'm claiming the right to make the final song selection."

"And if I do not comply?"

"You have no choice. Once dibs are called, they _must_ be honored."

"I have never heard of this stipulation before."

"It's serious stuff, Spock. Ask the Captain. It's almost as serious as jinxing someone."

"I am unfamiliar with that term as well."

"If two people say the exact same thing at the exact same time, one of them calls jinx. The other person can't talk until someone says their name. But if they do talk before the jinx is lifted, then they have to buy you a soda."

"Highly illogical. Though, it may serve as an effective means of silencing someone."

"Now you're getting it! And…I think I found something that no one but me listens to anymore. Late twentieth century!" She announced proudly.

"That's quite old."

She previewed it for him. The melody was intriguing, even if the lyrics were saturated with emotion. But that hardly mattered since their rendition would be solely instrumental. And the sentiments weren't entirely foreign. Moreover, given this "dibs" decree, it seemed that he had no way out of it.

* * *

><p>The further out into space the ship got, the more popular the scheduled recreation became. And talent night seemed to be everyone's favorite. The house was packed and the set list was full. They weren't last this time around, but she was grateful. The grand finale was too much pressure. Singing in front of a large crowd was one thing. Playing for a small crowd was easily done too. But playing <em>with<em> Spock—who'd been playing it his whole life—was another matter entirely. There were a hundred thousand things that could go wrong, and in comparison to him she would probably sound like a toddler banging on a toy xylophone.

Of course, she didn't let any of this show as she took the stage and sat on a low stool, adjacent to him. She was probably still projecting enough nervousness to be sensed by a telepath, which would account for why he seemed to be looking at her reassuringly.

He nodded and she began teasing the strings, calling forth the lilting introduction. Soon, the melody from his lyre joined hers and the two melted into a single sound. It was spellbinding, the way they came together and her apprehension trickled away as she focused on the music. Her harp matched and answered his perfectly. And after a while it was impossible to tell whose instrument the individual notes were coming from.

She would've bet her commission that he was playing with passion, the way the instrument called out according to his will. And she could relate, knowing exactly what it was like to have the undivided attention of those hands.

When they were finished, she was fighting chills, but of course he was a paragon of composure. Which made her wonder if she could ever tire of that, the way he could totally undo her and yet stay so poised himself.

Doubtful.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I know it's short, but it's finals week so I'm hoping you'll forgive me :)And I'll promise to make the next chapter meatier. That being said, I have already written a story chronicling the events after** S2: Ep 3, The Changeling**. But I have carefully re-watched the episode a few times since writing that fic and I plan to address it differently for the purposes of this story. I'll put more details about that in the A/N at the start of the next chapter. Also, for those of you who had concerns about the flow of the last chapter, I made some minor adjustments that might be considered an improvement, so please feel free to re-read. In the meantime, I hope this meets your expectations and holds you over until after my finals. Thank you all so much for your support!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** The latter half of this chapter addresses the events of TOS **Episode 3 Season 2,** **"The Changeling."** This story continues to remain separate from my other story which deals with the same events. I was hesitant to do this again simply because I didn't want to repeat myself, but in the end I decided that I had to since it's one of the few episodes of the show where Uhura is part of the plot and not just an accessory. As I mentioned in the last A/N I have watched and re-watched the Changeling. So I noticed that Knowledge and Memory banks are referred to as two separate things and since the show makes no comment on Nyota's personal memories being _taken_ or _restored_, for the purpose of this story, I will assume that they are intact and only her knowledge was wiped. How that would actually be possible, I have no idea, but this is sci-fi so I'm gonna go with it. Tell me if I pulled it off believably or if I totally missed the mark. I'm happy to hear ideas and critique. **All Translations are taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary. **And for everyone I couldn't answer via PM, the song I had in mind while writing the duet in chapter 12 was "The Closer I Get to You," by Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway. Thanks for all your well wishes and support. Finals was kind of painless!

* * *

><p>"No," Spock said softly, taking her wrist and sliding her hand from the left side of his chest to the right side of his abdomen. "My heart is here."<p>

"Fascinating. And is it fluttering just for me?"

"That is not a flutter. I told you, my resting heart rate is 265 BPM."

She sighed and moved to sit astride him. "Can't you ever just go with it?"

"Go with what exactly?" His hands closed gently over her hips.

"With _anything_ I say." She leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his. She thought she may have felt his lip twitch into the smallest smile, but she knew she must have imagined it. She wished that he would intermittently allow himself to submit to the giddiness she felt. But then, if he did, he wouldn't be Spock. And the response she _was_ getting from him was much more affirming than any grin.

"I will concede," he offered when she pulled back, "that my heart rate may be elevated as a result of your…actions." His gaze slid over her slowly.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed."

"Then I better just keep at it until I get the flutter I'm looking for."

"Persistence is logical."

"Yeah, I bet it is."

* * *

><p>She hadn't meant to say it; she didn't even have the presence of mind to say it in standard. Caught in a current of ecstasy, she chanted "nakupenda" over and over again like an incantation until they both found transcendence. And he didn't have to speak Swahili to know its meaning. It ran through him as thick and hot as his own blood.<p>

Later, he lay beside her, half asleep, or maybe in a light meditative state. Either way, the fact that he allowed her to see him as anything other than fully alert was humbling. She could sense his contentment and tranquility, her own bliss serving as a counterpart. She traced constellations across his chest, but he didn't seem to mind, since he didn't bother moving.

"Ophiuchus." He mumbled, correctly naming the pattern she'd been making. She just smiled, rolled her eyes and shook her head. Only Spock.

"I um…I meant what I said—that I love you. I don't want you to think it's just a heat of the moment kind of thing. I do love you." He was about to stir, but she stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "I don't need you to say it back. You don't have to say anything. I just want you to have all the facts."

"Duly noted. And since you have made me aware of all the facts, it is only logical that I do the same. You are very important to me, Nyota."

"Acknowledged, Commander. Did I uh…did I get your heart to flutter?"

"Perhaps once or twice," he admitted, settling her closer. She resumed her star mapping and he named them until they drifted off to sleep together.

* * *

><p>Numb. Deprived of feeling by shock. Which was a surprisingly accurate description of how Spock felt as he looked at the duty roster and saw Uhura's name but looked at her station to find it being manned by one of her subordinates. The bridge was quiet now. One of the few kinds of quiet that actual unsettled him. It was an empty sort that he thought should have been filled with her soft humming.<p>

The subordinate, Ensign Moon was talking to the captain and he overheard, even as he tried not to.

"I just feel bad, Captain. I've been waiting, you know, to get on the bridge. But not like this, I didn't want the Lieutenant to get hurt."

"Moon, none of this is your fault. And the Doctor says the Uhura will be back on the job in about a week."

"I still think I wanted it too bad."

"She was the one who put your name on the schedule as her relief. Granted, she probably wasn't thinking it would happen this way, but your chief trusts you. So that means I'm counting on you to get the work done according to her standard. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Sir." The woman replied in a small, unconvincing voice. Nyota and Spock had quite a few discussions about Ensign Moon. She was fond of her, eager to mentor her. There were so many things she could teach her. Or rather things she could have taught her. Now Uhura herself was in sick bay relearning at the high school level.

When they led her off the bridge, her face had been blank, her eyes vacant. And yet as she passed him, they locked gazes and he knew she recognized him, that there were probably thousands of sentiments that she wanted to express, but she no longer had the words to do so. Personally, he was unaccustomed to helplessness, and it was not a welcome sensation. But he was nearly drowning in it when he weakly told Nomad that the "unit" he'd just disabled was a woman.

For the first time in a while, he did not stay past his shift, but was on the turbo lift the moment it ended. He went directly to sickbay and found her at one of the lab computers, staring at an issue of her favorite trade journal, _Hail Magazine_. In fact, she was a regular contributor.

There was no one else in the immediate vicinity, so he allowed himself the use of her first name. "Nyota, I have come." She turned slowly, her eyes red and rimmed with dark circles, her makeup washed away—no doubt by tears that had been shed some time earlier.

"Spock," she greeted, almost inaudibly. "I wrote this article." Her head bobbed to the monitor.

"I am aware. I proof read it for you. It is innovative and informed. The publisher has forwarded you many correspondences from readers saying as much."

He heard her swallow and take in a breath that rattled like wind moving through trees. "I…" she shook her head and narrowed her eyes, before flashing a smile that had no vitality to it. "I don't—I can't understand it anymore. I even pushed the translate button, made it Swahili, and it still doesn't make sense. It's a lot of jargon and techno babble. But I wrote it."

He had no response. Her work was foremost in her life. That's what made her a superior officer, that along with a deft hand and swift ear. He still wasn't sure what they would do about all the things that she'd learned from experience, her internships off planet and at Spacedock, her earlier missions.

"I just finished my senior year, which is nice."

"Admirable, especially considering you didn't know how to speak English this morning."

She snorted and put the monitor to sleep. "I'm going to ask the doctor if he needs to keep me over night. I really don't want to stay. This gown is short and drafty, and the bed isn't as comfortable as mine."

"I will escort you back to your quarters should you be released."

"Thanks."

He offered her his first two fingers and she looked at them with her head dropped to one side, bewildered. He took her hand, folded down her other digits and locked the gesture. "The ozh'esta or finger embrace. The only acceptable public display of affection for my people."

"It's strange," she began without moving. "I remember…doing this with you, but I didn't _know_ what it was. How can I be remembering without knowing?"

"A most curious phenomenon that deserves further scientific study."

She snatched her hand away. "I'm going to pretend like you didn't just suggest that I be studied like some kind of test subject."

"I did not intend—Nomad was a fascinating device but it was destroyed before we could collect any concrete data from it. I simply believe that it would be regrettable if we were to learn _nothing_ from this experience."

"Thanks to this experience, I'm learning _everything_ from scratch! And I have to deal with a well-meaning medical staff that comes in every hour and treats me like a child, because I know as much as a child! And you want to what, observe me so that all is not lost from a scientific standpoint?"

"Nyota…could it be that you are channeling your frustrations about your current situation into your interactions with me simply because I am here and because we have an intimate relationship?"

"You think I'm lashing out?" He nodded curtly. "Okay. Maybe. But do you hear yourself when you talk? I don't want to be studied, Spock, and I don't want my condition studied. I want it gone. I want to be myself again. I want to go to work tomorrow, not next week."

"To attempt a full four year academy education in a week is ambitious."

"Spock," her tone was measured in a way he recognized, like she was forcing herself not to scream. "I completed twelve years of formal education in a _day_—and in a second language no less. Do not…just—I'm going to go talk to the doctor."

"Very well."

She disappeared into a smaller room—the CMO's office—and came back looked annoyed, but not disappointed. "I have to submit to another round of brain scans before he can let me go. It'll be about another hour before he discharges me."

"I can wait."

"Thank you. Who's at my station?"

"Ensign Moon. She performed worthily."

"Excellent. I quite literally couldn't have done better myself."

Never had silence between them been as uncomfortable as it was just then. She was sitting in a chair, swinging her legs, picking at her nail polish. And he sat propped against a desk, totally at a loss as to what to say or do next.

"Teach me another Vulcan word," she requested after some time.

He quickly searched his mind for an appropriate term. "Ralash-tanaf. Music."

"Raylash-tanif."

"Ralash-tanaf." He repeated more slowly.

"Ralash-tanaf."

"Good. Ralash-tanafsu. Musician."

"Ralash-tanafsu."

"Yes. Yel-hali. Starship."

"Yel-hali?"

He went on teaching her whatever words came to him, mostly pointing out items in the room. Her pronunciation had suffered, but she had been conversational before and she could be again. Finally he looked at her, the way her eyes were alight again, and a very particular turn of phrase presented itself. "k'hat'n'dlawa."

"That's too hard. I'll never say that right. What does it mean?"

"Half of the other's heart or soul. It is an antiquated term, but occasionally it finds modern application. K'diwa is an abbreviation and is used more often. It translates to…beloved."

"K'diwa? It that you say it?"

"Yes, K'diwa, it is."

She smiled and leaned forward, about to kiss him, but he heard Bones' approaching footsteps and sat back.

"Alright, Uhura. One more round of tests and I won't bother you for another seven light days."

"Alright, Doctor."

"Spock? What are you doing in here?"

"I've come to escort Miss Uhura back to her quarters." He eyed him suspiciously but said no more, leading Nyota into one of the sterile exam rooms.

She came back out into the main area of the sickbay wearing her uniform. She gave him a mirthless smile and started out the door, her arms folded across her chest. "It feels like a joke, wearing this." She admitted once they got into the elevator. "This is an officer's uniform."

"You are an officer."

"There are freshmen at the academy who know more about working on a starship than I do right now."

"Right now. But eventually you will be returned to full productivity."

"Here's hoping."

"Nyota, might I suggest a more positive attitude? You are exhibiting signs of bitterness. I do not believe this will in any way aid in your recovery."

"I'm trying. I really am. But I'm angry. I feel robbed and violated and just plain stupid. I am literally the least educated person on the ship right now, and it's killing me." They stopped at her door and he waited before realizing that her access code was probably another bit of information that the probe had wiped. She watched as he put in the PIN. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She sighed and took in the contents of the space. Her knowledge of African art was most likely gone, which would render many of her pieces meaningless. He would tell her everything she'd taught him about the subject later, after she'd gotten sufficient rest.

"These weren't here earlier," she commented as she spotted a vase full of brightly colored flowers. "They're from Sulu and the crew." He read the card over her shoulder, naturally curious.

_**Every flower has a meaning, Uhura. This bouquet of mixed zinnias means that we are thinking of you, our absent friend. Can't wait to have you back. Speedy and thorough recovery. **_

_**Love Enterprise, Your Space Family. **_

It was then signed by the bridge officers, Captain Kirk's signature being the largest.

"A paper card and everything. That's beautiful." She touched the flowers, barely grazing the petals as she bent down to sniff them. "I'm going to put this in my chest." She waved the handwritten missive and crossed the room, kneeling before the heavy wooden box, opening the lid. But as soon as she saw inside, she sat the paper aside and reached in and pulled out an engraved wooden box. "This is mine." She whispered. "It's an…instrument, isn't it?"

"It is a Ka'athyra, a Vulcan harp."

"You bought this for me. I _remember_ that." She freed it from the case, almost franticly and placed it on her knee. "I can play this." She ran her hand across the strings. It was still perfectly tuned and made a very generic strumming sound. She looked encouraged nonetheless.

Then she tried to move her fingers into a more specific position but they stalled in the air, just above the lyre. "I—I can play this," she stammered, choking down the tears in her voice. She struck a few notes and they rang discordantly in the air. "No." She glanced over her shoulder looking toward him, but not at him. "This is mine. You—you had this _made_ for me on a whole other planet. I have to be able to play this."

He paced the distance between them. "Nyota, Nomad's scan…"

"Don't talk to me about that damn machine! This is my harp, my ka'athyra, and I have to be able to play it."

"You can be reeducated. I can teach you again."

"No." She sobbed. "It can't have taken this too."

"You will be proficient again." Her eyes were shut so tightly that her eyelids were crinkling and she was making whimpering noises, crumpling around the body of the lyre. He took her arm and helped her stand.

"I'm—I'm sorry. I learned that—that Vulcans aren't comfortable with emotions. You must want to leave."

"On the contrary, K'diwa. The cause is sufficient." He pried it from her as gently as he could and placed it back in its container. He put that and the card in the chest and sat her on the bed.

"If I don't know the things I used to know, the things that were important to me, then who am I?"

"You are the same. Information can be restored, similar to how a computer can be reprogramed. You are not obsolete, nor broken beyond repair. You have many people who are ready and willing to help you. Please, embrace this process."

"I love you." She dragged her hand over her sodden cheeks before touching her mouth softly to his.

"Duly noted."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Have I told you guys lately that I love you? Y'all constantly inspire and challenge me with your reviews. All of your logical questions and suggestions really got my wheels turning with this one and I hope you like my solution, because this matter really wasn't resolved in a satisfactory way in the show. I had more fun taking on this episode a second time than I thought I would. I watched it **AGAIN **and made some decisions based on the fact that she could still speak her native tongue, she seemed to know who she was, who her friends were, the fact that she didn't question her surroundings at all, and the rapidity of her re-education. If this explanation makes any sense to you at all let me know, or if I made it worse than TOS let me know. Either way I'm interested. Now that finals are over, I'm kind of on a roll. Thank you to everyone who had read, followed and favorited. I'm so appreciative.

* * *

><p>Uhura thought it was astonishing how quietly Spock was capable of moving as he rose from the bed and went into the bathroom to get ready for his day. He'd stayed with her, slept in the clothes he'd given her to get back to her cabin in while his uniform cycled through the refresher. Having his warmth and calming presence had been an asset.<p>

During the night, she'd been restless, so he asked if he could touch her mind. She was hesitant, having had enough of anything tampering with her brain. But he explained his telepathic abilities to her patiently, in depth, and told her that he would only soothe her, nothing more. So she conceded and he took her hands. Peace, too strong to be her own, came over her until the knot in her chest came undone. Then he proposed that they try guided meditation later. It would be more intimate, but he promised that she would eventually be able to calm herself in a similar way. She agreed shortly before she fell asleep.

Now, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to forget that she too should be getting ready for duty. He emerged from the bathroom in just his trousers, brushing his hair forward into his usual style.

"Going to work?"

"Yes."

She sat up, tucking her legs beneath her, wrapping a hand around an ankle. "I guess I should get up and get ready for my first day of school."

Their reflections locked eyes in the mirror and his eyes glittered the way they did when he'd probably chuckle if he were human. "Is there a set time for you to report?"

"No, but I suppose in the early morning is best. I think Christine might get busier in the afternoon."

"Nurse Chapel will continue to proctor your education?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because she is a medical specialist and you are a communications specialist. Should there be a topic specific to your field that you find challenging, her ability to help you will be severely limited."

"I hadn't thought about that."

"I believe that Lieutenant Palmer would be better suited to the task. That would however, still render you at a disadvantage because the simulation labs are not at your disposal."

"Spock," she whined. "This is hard enough without you explaining all the reasons why it's hard."

"Forgive me. Did you, by chance, save any of your lecture notes from your time as a cadet?"

"Umm…"

"Computer." He commanded as he shrugged into his black undershirt and walked over to the monitor. "Search personal library for following tags and designations: Lectures, Academy, Communications."

"Working…There are 60 files tagged Lectures, 12 files tagged Academy and 1,786 files tagged Communications."

His eyes widened. "A considerable collection, Nyota."

"They wouldn't be on my work computer would they? My lecture notes from then would probably be on some old PADDs or tapes."

"When I complete my shift, I will help you look."

She beamed. "Sounds like a plan. I was an ace student, you know. I could probably teach myself based on my notes."

"That would helpful."

She darted into the bathroom, newly excited and started scrubbing at her teeth. Everything in the bathroom was immaculate and it would have been impossible to tell that Spock had been in there had it not been for an extra toothbrush sitting in the sanitizer. She liked seeing it there, such a mundane indicator of his place in her life.

She showered and left the bathroom in her robe, a tiny silk thing with a floral watercolor pattern. "You're still here?"

"Obviously." He deadpanned from his seat at her desk. At some point he'd gotten himself a cup of tea and had one waiting for her as well. "There are yet 30 minutes and 17 seconds until start of shift. My usual trip to the bridge takes 2 minutes and 38 seconds. Accounting for the distance between my quarters and yours—"

"Okay." She said opening her closet and finding mostly uniforms. Her first instinct was to snatch them all down since it felt like they were mocking her, but she took a deep breath and shifted them out of the way. She paired a high-waisted pencil skirt with her academy sweat shirt and t-strap pumps.

"The irony of your attire is not lost on me, K'diwa." He noted as he read the shirt.

"Thank you." She reached up and brought his face down to hers, pressing their lips together. "I couldn't get through his without you."

"You are my significant other. As a Vulcan, seeing that your needs are met is my chief priority."

"Well, you're very, very good at it, My Love."

Wordlessly, he handed her a still warm cup of tea. "I spoke with the Captain as you were completing your ablutions."

"And" she prompted, sniffing the contents of the cup.

"He agrees that Lieutenant Palmer would be a more suitable tutor for the latter half of your education. Instead of reporting to sickbay, you will report to the communications department."

"What is this?"

"Plomeek tea. You've been vowing to try it for some time and since it is known to have a calming effect—as are most Vulcan teas—I though now would be a most prudent time for you to taste it."

She kept her gaze on him as she tilted the liquid into her mouth. She rolled her lips and darted her tongue over them, nodding. He was briefly enraptured. "Not bad. Can it be sweetened?"

"It can be sweetened or spiced. Mother prefers hers sweet while I find it more appealing when spiced."

"Let me taste yours." He gave her the mug and she sampled it. Then she passed off her cup to him and walked away with his brew.

"I assume you too find it more appealing when spiced."

"Obviously. You know, I think I'll need a PADD with enough free space to take extensive notes."

"Anticipated and addressed." He gestured to the table, where he'd stacked three shiny new devices. "One for your major classes, one for your general education classes and one for any extracurricular courses you may be asked to undertake."

"I can't get enough of you. You know that?"

"That bodes well for the longevity of our relationship."

She giggled and kissed him again. This time she tasted like his favorite beverage and he deepened it until she hummed and pulled back.

"I still have to do my hair and makeup."

"Is not the purpose of cosmetics to correct perceived flaws?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because your features are mostly symmetrical and your skin tone is even, free of any noticeable blemishes." He gently griped her chin angling her head from side to side. "Such measures seem unnecessary."

"Did you just tell me I'm too pretty for makeup?"

"I—"

"No take backs! In your own Spock-y way you just said, "You are much too beautiful for makeup.""

"I simply meant to imply that you could save time on your morning routine by omitting that step."

"Uh-huh." She offered him a peck and moved over to her vanity. "Anyway, I mostly use it to enhance my features, not really cover them up."

He shrugged, determined not to say anything else she could run with. "Do you remember the layout of the ship? Can you find your way to the com lab?"

"Isn't it Deck...6?" He nodded. "Then I should be fine. Go ahead to the bridge. You don't have to wait around for me to line my eyes."

"Very well." He started toward the door.

"You're forgetting something, Mister." He looked around, at a loss. "My goodbye kiss." He arched a brow by came back and kissed her anyway. "Love you." He dipped his head in acknowledgement and left for the day.

* * *

><p>"How's our girl doing?" Kirk asked as he entered the communications office, giving Uhura a quick squeeze about the shoulders. She was in a cubicle, her notes spread out in front of her on the three PADDs Spock gave her earlier.<p>

She craned her neck and grinned up at him. But before she could respond, Lieutenant Palmer came from around the partition. "I've never seen anything like it, Captain."

"What are you talking about, Palmer?"

"This is the log of the lessons she's completed this morning and the time it took her to complete them. She's breezing through it."

"Well, it _is_ an accelerated learning program."

"Sir, I swear it's like she already knows this stuff."

Kirk took the tablet that the woman was offering and looked over the information on the screen. It was somewhat…unbelievable. "Bones," he said to the doctor who'd been standing quietly since following him in. "Get Christine up here with the rest of the logs."

"Sure thing, Jim."

"Oh, Captain, can I page her please? I think I can do it."

His eyes darted between Spock and Uhura briefly before the Vulcan nodded and he answered in the affirmative. She opened the channel and called the nurse over the intercom.

A few moments later, Chapel busted in. "Uhura? Are you back on the job?" she questioned excitedly as she gave the records to Kirk.

"No. Just testing my chops. Feels like the most natural thing in the world, though."

The three men pored over the two documents, huddled just outside the little stall. "What do you make of this? Is this even possible, Spock?"

"Not according to any educational standard I am aware of, Captain. To complete grades K-12 in one day and be on the sophomore level of the academy in a few hours is unprecedented and most likely impossible."

"You're looking at the proof, Jim. What more do you need?"

"Uhura, were you a certified or registered genius before you came aboard?"

"Not _certified, _no." she quipped lightly, pretending to flip her hair off her shoulder.

Jim chuckled. "So how do we explain her extraordinary learning capacity?"

"I am forced to conclude," Spock began "That Lieutenant Uhura has not learned this information at all." As soon as the words left his mouth the group recoiled from him and gathered around Nyota protectively as if he'd struck her with the full force of his Vulcan strength. The look of hurt and confusion on her face tugged at something in him and he realized belatedly how cruel that statement would have sounded to the human ear.

"Of all the coldblooded, heartless things to say…"Bones groused.

"You misunderstand. Allow me to rephrase." He resisted the urge to reach out and reassure her with his touch. "The probe was badly damaged at the time of the attack on Lieutenant Uhura. It was mistaken in his belief that our captain was its creator. It may also have been mistaken in its belief that it absorbed Ms. Uhura and wiped her knowledge banks clean. Indeed, all of its instruments were not in proper working order. More likely than not, it only scanned and probed her. I believe—given my own observations, including my fusion with the device, and the evidence presented just a moment ago— that she sustained more of a shock than a deletion. It is then, within the realm of possibility that the most pertinent information was sequestered in the _subconscious_ as a defense mechanism, a concept that a logical machine like Nomad may not have understood."

"So you think Uhura's mind hid the important stuff from Nomad. But she hid it so well that even she can't get to it?"

"Something akin to a trauma induced amnesia. When she is reminded of the information, she _recalls_ it rather than _learns_ it. Much like an emotional trigger calls certain events or information to the forefront."

"But I struggled through those first few lessons. They didn't just come to me."

"It's true, Mr. Spock I was there…"

"It could be because that was at the beginning of the process, but once a safe is opened the valuables can be retrieved at will."

"How do I get the rest back? The languages? The music? I—used to know so much…"

"I think we should continue on this recovery path. And I believe we should allow her to return to work during the beta shift until she is fit to resume her post, Captain"

"Bones?"

"Well, it makes sense to me, Jim. My medical findings show absolutely no neurological damage. Uhura's firing on all the same cylinders she was before. She probably did suppress the knowledge—like memories—and the lessons act like a trigger. Sending her back to work is probably the best thing to do."

"You up to it, Lieutenant?"

She leapt from her seat, her eyes swimming in tears. She launched herself at Kirk and hugged him before she thought better of it. "So very much so! Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much!"

He returned her embrace and sat her back at arm's length. "School in the day and work at night, it won't be easy."

"Nothing is ever easy on a starship."


	15. Chapter 15

Uhura removed her earpiece and sat it on the console. It was the last night she had to work beta shift, which she was grateful for. Of course, everyone had been kind and helpful and Spock had been right about it unlocking her knowledge banks. But she'd worked her whole life to end up on the day watch and she was eager to be back where she belonged.

"We're gonna miss you, Lieutenant." The second-string science officer said as she packed up her stylus and PADD.

"She goes to a better place," the woman at the helm added dreamily. Nyota had bonded with her the most, Lieutenant Hewitt.

"I'll miss you too. I thank all of you for being so welcoming. And I know you'll be glad to have Lieutenant Palmer back at her post."

"Meh, she's alright." Hewitt shrugged, collecting her things, getting into the lift with Uhura.

"She's been helping me during the day with my academy classes."

"Oh, yeah, she's lovely—sweet as all get out of town. But you're so…fun. I'll be bored when you're back with the big dogs."

"Big dogs?"

"Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. I bet those two could conquer the galaxy if they wanted to."

"You're probably right." They hugged and Hewitt got off on her deck. She was kind of glad they parted ways since she had every intention of going straight to Spock's room and didn't feel like explaining it.

She hadn't actually expected him to be there, but maybe she left the bridge a few minutes early. Thanks to her augmented schedule, it'd been days since she'd seen him, so she charged him, but even then he didn't so much as sway.

"I missed you."

"I too have been acutely aware of your absence, K'diwa."

But his words got muffled as she folded him down to her level, pressing their lips together, caressing his face. She hummed as he lifted her from the floor and deepened the kiss. He took one of her hands and matched their fingertips. The force with which their minds came together staggered them both, making her pull away to catch her breath.

The look in his eyes was hot and raw. She'd never seen any emotion on his face as clearly as his desire was etched there now. He leaned in again, kissing her like he thought it may be the last time he was allowed to do so. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he held her effortlessly. The sensation flowing through the link was a dizzying cocktail of happiness and want.

"How much time do we have?" She breathed before tugging on the tip of his ear with her teeth.

He purred and his fingers pressed harder into her thigh. "We are already on borrowed time," he responded with a voice that was slightly less than even. He closed his eyes and lowered her into a standing position.

"Spock!"

He stood absolutely still for a moment, rerouting his wayward circulation. "I am…required on the bridge."

She couldn't fault him for doing his duty and she had to admire that kind of control. But that didn't mean she had to like it. "Okay. I'll see you later?"

"Yes."

"Can I sleep here?"

"You have your own quarters."

"Your sheets smell like you." He nodded. She was right, his sheets did smell like him and he would much rather them carry her scent. She pecked a kiss to his cheek that affected him more than in probably should have. "Love you." Saying it back wasn't an option, but he brought their fingers together with the ozh'esta and allowed her to sense his regard for her.

As he walked to the lift, Jim joined him, coffee in hand. "Good morning, Captain."

He grunted his reply, sipping from the cup. "I hope it's a quiet day." He said once the cup had been drained.

"I assume that you were unable to get sufficient rest."

"Sufficient rest? What's that?"

"Perhaps the doctor could prescribe something until your sleeping patterns are regulated."

"Then I wouldn't need coffee. You know what happens if I stop drinking coffee?"

"You are freed from the grip of caffeine addiction?"

"No! All galactic coffee trade would come to a halt. I wouldn't want to cripple the Federation that way."

"I should think not."

Kirk looked at the empty container with disappointment before handing it off to Spock who passed it off to the yeoman as the stepped on to the bridge.

"You heard anything about Uhura," The Captain asked as he caught sight of Ensign Moon at the console.

"She will return to her post tomorrow."

"She made a good call with her replacement."

"I agree."

"You know," Jim began in a whispered voice, sitting on the railing across from the science station. "I think Scotty might, uh, have a thing for Uhura."

"I do not understand. A thing?"

"You know" he moved his hands vaguely, struggling to articulate. "I think he might like her. He _died _for her."

"Mr. Scott had no intention of dying when he faced Nomad."

"But he didn't even think about it, Spock. He just rushed in to save the day. I think they might be nice together. What do you think? I could strand them together on a planet...see what happens."

"That would be a gross misuse of your power. And I fail to see how this matter concerns you."

"I live vicariously through my crew since everything is hands off to the captain." He laughed while the other man only raised a brow. "Bones, what brings you to this neck of the woods?" He greeted as the doctor stepped onto the deck and joined their huddle.

"The biolab finished those test you wanted," he told the science officer. "They discovered a pathogen which was most likely the cause of the landing party's nausea, dizziness, disorientation and paranoia. Think you can work out a counter agent and recalibrate the decon field?"

"I will try." Spock took the tablet from the doctor and fed the information to his computer.

"Do we need to drop beacons around the planet in the meantime, quarantine it?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"Come about, Sulu, back to the system we investigated yesterday."

"Kirk's planet, Sir?" The helmsmen inquired with a smile.

"Kirk's planet," his two friends echoed, both looking horrified.

"I discovered it didn't I? And it's just a suggestion. The Federation will sort all that out in time."

"Kirk's planet," The Doctor scoffed. "No wonder it's making people sick."

"Watch it, or I may see fit to have you stay behind and conduct additional research on _Kirk's Planet_. Speaking of stranding crew members, what do you think of Uhura and Scotty?"

"They're right as rain now."

"I mean together, Bones."

"Isn't that kind of their business, Jim?"

"Everyone needs a push every now and again."

"Scotty's a _little_ shy, but Uhura's the type of girl who knows how to get what she wants. Please, don't meddle."

"I am inclined to agree with McCoy. It is also possible that their attentions already lie elsewhere."

"Fine. But mark my words…before the end of this mission those two are going to get together."

* * *

><p>Back in Spock's cabin, Nyota couldn't shut her mind off long enough to go to sleep. His harp was hanging on the other side of the nearby partition. She couldn't help thinking that she might have a better time with that one since it was the one she learned on originally. It may be illogical, but she would try anything to be able to play again.<p>

"Computer, display file, title: Introduction to Post-Awakening Music Theory."

"File on screen."

She unhooked the ka'athyra from its place and sat in front of the monitor. It took her a moment to settle it in her lap since she was used to a smaller, lighter instrument now. She read over the material carefully, practically willing her knowledge back. She did the chapter exercises, disallowing the tears that threatened to fall every time she made an elementary mistake.

After some time she felt confident enough to try "Beyond Antares," which was the first real song she'd mastered. The first few tries left a lot to be desired. She plucked at the strings hesitantly, afraid that the resulting noise would mock her. But after a couple of shaky run throughs, she managed to make it sound recognizable.

She shrieked and jumped from her seat when she finally played it all the way through without error. She sat the harp aside and applauded herself, jumping up and down, dancing. When she finally calmed down enough to check the time, she realized that Spock was probably having lunch right now so she made her way to the officer's mess.

He and the Captain were sharing a table, Jim talking with his hands, waving a spoon. Spock was eating diligently, cutting his food into perfectly sized bites.

"Guess who got their mojo back?" She prompted, strutting over.

"I don't know, who?"

"Yours truly, Sir. I just played "Beyond Antares" _perfectly_ on the Vulcan lyre."

"Good for you. Isn't that great, Spock?"

He looked slightly impatient with himself as he waited to finish chewing before speaking. "Yes." He said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Have a seat. You hungry?"

"No, sir. I'm about to head off to bed."

"You seem overstimulated, Lieutenant. Perhaps you should have tea."

"Good idea, Commander." She went over to the replicator and returned with spiced plomeek tea.

"What do you have there?"

"Plomeek tea."

"I thought plomeek was a soup."

"Plomeek is a _root_ that has several uses."

"Does it taste like the soup?"

"No. They are very dissimilar in flavor due to the fact that the root is roasted and dried before it can be used to make tea."

"It's good. Do you want to try it?"

"I'll take a rain check. Listen…how do you feel about Scott?"

"He's my friend and a brilliant engineer. Why do you ask, Sir?"

"You know he tried to stop Nomad's attack on you?"

"Christine told me. I don't know what I could ever do to thank him."

"See, I was thinking—"

"I thought you'd decided not to pursue this course, Jim."

"I changed my mind, Spock."

"What am I missing?"

"I think you and Scott should give it the old college try."

Her eyes slid over to Spock, her jaw slack. Her head shook of its own accord. "Sir—"

"It would be impossible, Captain."

"Why are you so against this? What's it got to do with you?"

"Miss Uhura and I are already in a relationship."

His spoon fell from his hand and clanked down into an almost empty bowl. His gaze darted furiously between the two. "There's no way."

"Pardon?"

"You're Spock and she's…Uhura."

"We are well aware of our personal identities."

"Is this true?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I suppose I should congratulate you."

"I believe that is the more typical response to such news."

"How long?"

"Officially, since Altair."

"You can't keep stuff like this from me, Spock. I'm your Captain, your best friend. I was practically planning their wedding."

"Then I suggest you cancel the caterer." The two human snickered and he regarded them blandly.

"Well, I better be going. I'll see you tomorrow, _on the bridge_. Dismissed, Sir?"

"Dismissed." He watched her leave over his shoulder before turning back to the first officer. "You shouldn't be keeping this a secret."

"It is not secret, merely privileged information."

"You have got to do something to let other people know, Spock. If you—Mr. Logic—noticed her then you can bet your last credit that other men on this ship have noticed her. Remember we talked about dibs?"

"I do. Is it somehow relevant now?"

"You need to call dibs on the Lieutenant, stake a claim. Trust me; I know much more about human interactions than you do. You can't let everyone go around here thinking she's single when she's not, for your own sake."

"I will take your advice into consideration."

"See that you do."

Kirk wanted this to work for his friend, as unlikely as the pairing seemed to him. Maybe opposites really did attract. And now that he thought about it, they had some things in common—most notably their love of music and the fine arts. They were insatiably curious, hardworking, and loyal to their cultures. Plus they had that adventurer's spirit—a type of wanderlust—present most fleet officers. Maybe the fact that they were like fire and ice made meant that they complimented each other. And it was Spock; obviously, he knew what he was doing. He probably had gone through a whole long list of pros and cons before getting himself into it. It had to be totally logical, didn't it?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **A couple of things. **One**: I've taken some liberties when it comes to the schedule as shifts are not really ever talked about in TOS. So I've simply deiced to have Alpha shift as the day shift (watch) and Beta as the night shift (watch). This is not indicative of the more structured duty schedule in later ST franchises. I know it's not a life changing detail, but I wanted to address it to avoid any confusion. **Two**: I was hesitant to put Kirk in here since I find him a little hard to characterize, but he's such an important part of the crew's lives that he couldn't be left out. I hope my Jim gels with the one in the show because I actually love the way Shatner plays the role. Feedback is always appreciated, one way or the other!


	16. Chapter 16

**Note**:_ Italics indicates dialogue exchanged telepathically. _

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><p>Spock had been meditating more intensively lately. And inexplicably, she found herself not wanting to go the rec room and entertain. Maybe they had synced up on some level because all she really had a desire to do was read, drink tea, and spend time with her closet friends. This led to a few weeks of quiet recreation like going to the botany lab and tending plants with Sulu, teaching Chekov more dances, or watching movies with Charlene. Still, most of her free time was spent somewhere in Spock's immediate vicinity, listening to music, practicing the song without lyrics, or engaging in more…stimulating activates.<p>

Tonight, they were in her quarters with him resting his head on her lap. His fingers were steepled in that Spock way, with his index and middle fingers matched, touching his lips and the rest of his digits folded down. His eyes were closed and she took a moment to regard how thick, long and dark his lashes were and how they sat against his olive skin. She wanted to calculate the exact angle of his brow, but she didn't have the patience. Instead, she ran her hand over his forehead, smoothing down his already perfect bangs. He didn't flinch or move, but his breathing deepened.

She occupied herself with an old book of poetry that had been given to her by her grandmother when she enlisted in the fleet. It was written in Swahili, one of the few paper volumes she owed. She used to read it all the time when she was young and homesick. Now she only dusted it off occasionally. But as she was cleaning up tonight, it was there on the shelf and it called to her. Many of the pieces she knew by heart and she ended up spending more time sniffing the pages then actually reading them.

Slowly, his eyes opened. He shifted, rolling onto his side so that his face was pressed against her abdomen and his arms were warped around her waist.

"Are you okay, Sugar? I know it's deeply personal, but you've been meditating more often and for longer periods of time for a while now."

"I have much to consider," he admitted, his words muffled against the fabric of her nightgown.

"Maybe if you _talked _it out…that may help too. That's what I'm here for."

"Most pressing is that shortly _Enterprise_ will be transporting the parties attending the Babel conference."

"I thought you said you worked out the room assignments already."

"I did. That is not the problem. My father will be heading the Vulcan delegation."

"And you and he aren't copasetic."

"And understatement. It has been impossible to successfully engage him in an amicable conversation for 18 years. Avoidance has proven a most effective method until now, but that will hardly be possible with him on the ship."

"I see. Well, maybe you don't shoot for amicability. Maybe you just shoot for civility."

"A possibility. This will inevitably displease my mother, however."

"This is hard isn't it?"

"Another understatement. Control is imperative as I often find my father's blatant disapproval to be…taxing."

"Now _that_ sounds like an understatement. What can I do?"

He turned to face her and regarded her silently for a while before he sat up. "Perhaps, if you would allow me to share your mind I could properly convey my attitude toward the situation."

"You mean telepathically?" She sat her book on the nightstand and reached to take his hands. His meditation had obviously been successful since she sensed very little through the contact. She was so used to the hot hum of his mind that the cool turning she felt now seemed foreign.

"If you'd allow me to meld with you—to join our minds—then you would be able to sense all. It's a complete transference of thoughts and _feelings_. It is deeply personal and is the height of intimacy. If you are uncomfortable—"

"How would you do it?"

"I would drop my shields and place my hands on your psi points. Then I would fuse our minds until they were one."

"Can it hurt?"

"Not with an experienced practitioner. I have received all the necessary training in this matter. One or both of us may experience some tiredness depending on the extensiveness of the meld."

"And when we make love and you _touch_ my thoughts, is it like that?"

She sensed a spark from him, warm, bright, and gone as quickly as it came. "In a way, though far more intensive. One can initiate and sustain a meld during intercourse, but I thought it wisest to have an unhurried discussion first."

"Do I have to do anything special?"

"Nothing beyond consent, no."

"Okay. I consent. Go ahead."

"You do not have to agree to this."

"Spock, I want to. I enjoy your abilities." She paused and let the double meaning of her statement sink in. There was a fizzle of comprehension and something that felt akin to smugness. "If we can take our relationship to another level, then that's what I want to do."

"Very well." He bent back the fingers of his left hand, then his right before curling them into fists. Next he put his thumb and first two fingers on her face. "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

They came together with even more ease than he could have anticipated. Everything he'd sensed from her before was there, that effervesces, the light and color. Her trust was evident. There was nothing she attempted to keep hidden. It was almost overwhelming, the way all of it was available to him all at once.

"_May I show you this situation specifically?"_

"_Anything."_ Her mental voice was breathy, awed.

He allowed her to see his relationship with Sarek and all its fractures. The feeling of never meeting his father's expectations and how he'd given up on the notion, joining the fleet. He showed her the last time he'd visited home four years ago, the silence, save his mother's awkward attempts at conversation. He felt anger at his father and guilt toward his mother. Perhaps it was not he who failed as a son; perhaps Sarek had fallen short as a father. And yet, as much as it wasn't supposed to matter anymore, he couldn't stop wanting to gain his approval. There was irony in that he tried to be more his like father's people when the Vulcan was never satisfied and he alienated himself —literally—from his human heritage while his mother loved him unconditionally. More guilt toward Amanda. Bitterness. Resolution. And finally, his acceptance that little would ever change in this regard. Kaiidth.

After giving her so much of what he usually secreted away, even from himself, he was spent. He withdrew slowly and gently. Tears had collected in her eyes, some of them escaping to fall onto her cheek and roll onto his fingers.

"That's not fair." She whispered.

"It is not a question of fairness. It is a matter of fact."

She nodded and swallowed audibly, her eyelids fluttering. "Kaiidth."

"Precisely."

She cracked her face into a smile, clearing her moisture from her face with the heel of her hand. "I am so glad you're a rebel."

"Explain."

"I'm glad you decided to do what you wanted to do. Otherwise I wouldn't have met you, and meeting you is the best thing that's happened to me. I love you. And it doesn't matter what anyone else says, you made the right decision in joining the fleet."

"I have found my place in Starfleet. It is neutral ground where I am judged solely by my talents as an officer."

"I'm sorry to break it to you, Sugar, but _I_ don't judge you solely based on your talents as an officer."

"No?"

"No. See, I know that you have a great many talents totally unrelated to your duties. And I factor all these things into my final estimation of you."

He quirked a brow. "Fascinating."

"Isn't it just?" she leaned forward and drew him into a kiss.

* * *

><p>Sarek's impending arrival was not all that had been troubling him. The other thing was Jim and his endless nagging about making some kind of public declaration regarding his relationship with Uhura. It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea; in fact he understood the logic of it. Her appeal was obvious and now that it had been brought to his attention, there was no way he could miss the way the other males on the ship watched her. It was the method that escaped him. On Vulcan, it would have been evident that she was his woman. But he was the only non-human on the ship so he would have to do something that was easily understood by the Terrans and yet didn't violate his personal sense of propriety.<p>

After her social hiatus, she eagerly accepted an invitation to a gathering designed to showcase the work of the crewmembers that were artfully inclined.

"It's about time somebody thought to do a talent night for the fine arts." She noted as she stepped into her black strapless dress. She turned her back to him and waited for him to zip it. He pulled the zipper up and smoothed his hands over her shoulders before placing a kiss to the nape of her neck where her hair had been pulled up into an elaborate style. She shuddered and let a throaty giggle. She handed him an ornate necklace and he clasped it for her, allowing his fingers to briefly trace a line down her spine. "I should ask for your help more often."

"I would be agreeable," he admitted, nuzzling the hollow of her neck. She was wearing a fragrance that appealed to him greatly. He honestly regretted that she was getting into her clothes and not out of them.

"You can't wear your uniform."

"I was unaware there was a dress code."

"Not an official dress code, it's implied. But if you show up like that, you're going to make everyone uncomfortable."

"Is that so? Well, as that is not my intention, I will change. Go ahead of me. I will follow."

"I can wait."

"There is no need. Go."

"Okay." She gave him a peck on the lips but he made it linger, leaning forward when she pulled back. "Mmmm. You make me not want to go anywhere."

"This function is not mandatory," he reminded her.

She chuckled, kissed him again and left.

He went back to his quarters and quickly researched the proper attire for such an occasion, finding that he had all the necessary garments. He dressed quickly and went to meet Jim, knowing that he would still be getting ready.

He was right. The captain was just fastening on cufflinks when he arrived. He stopped when he saw him at the door, obviously taken aback by his choice of human clothes. "I didn't think you'd even be going."

"I will be attending with Lieutenant Uhura."

"Is that what you call her when you're alone together…Lieutenant?" He questioned with a grin.

"What I call her when we are alone is our own affair."

He shook his head and sprayed some scent on himself. "I'm waiting for Bones."

He entered as Jim was saying his name, tugging at the collar of his shirt where his necktie was. "I don't know why you're dragging me to this thing. This isn't even my scene back on earth. I'm a doctor, not an art critic."

"Can you do anything without complaining?" Kirk secured an old fashioned analog watch on his wrist. The idea of wearing a timepiece seemed so strange to Spock that he stared for a moment longer than he meant to. "Not everyone has that internal clock thing going for them" he explained, twisting his arm so that the chrome face of the watch caught the light.

"You could just look at a PADD or personal communicator."

"No," the doctor interjected "the watch makes the man. Old earth fashion."

"Interesting."

"Are we ready?"

As usual, when the three of them entered a space together, most people turned to look at them. There were lingering glances allocated to each of them. Uhura was near the center of the room, talking with Commander Madison about a piece, which was probably his. She had a glass of champagne in one hand, the other arm draped across her stomach. He marveled at how comfortable she seemed in every setting and thought that she could probably look as poised at a Klingon tribunal. She was nodding, listening intently, gesturing with her occupied hand as she asked questions. Madison was captivated and Spock noted the way the other man was watching her mouth as she spoke. He knew the way her lips wrapped carefully over all of her words and he might have been sympathetic to his plight had she not been his.

The three of men approached and she smiled when she saw them. Spock looked pretty incredible in his black suit and white shirt with the first two buttons undone. He had a dark green handkerchief folded neatly in the pocket and she wondered if green translated for Vulcans the way red did for humans. She excused herself from Madison and joined their knot, standing closer to Spock than another officer might have.

"Hello there, Darlin'."

"Hello, doctor." She took his hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Hello, Captain."

"Lieutenant. You see anything interesting?"

"Oh sure. I had no idea so many of the crew had these other talents. It's very impressive." They all took a cursory scan of the room. Some of the art was digital, scrolling across the large viewscreens, some of it was on canvas or paper while others had managed to appropriate recyclables.

"Let's uh…get a drink Bones. You want anything, Spock?"

"Not at the moment, thank you."

"Uhura?" she raised her mostly full glass by way of an answer and the other two departed from them.

"You clean up nice, Sexy."

"Sexy?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know," she said laughing. He nodded, conceding, which made her laugh louder.

This caught Bones' attention from across the room. Something about her standing there, so vivacious while he looked like he could care less…it just didn't make sense. "Why do you think she chooses to spend so much time with him?"

"Because they're a couple." Jim told him as he handed him some kind of blue drink in a small square cup.

"A couple of what?"

"Of lovers."

"Don't be ridiculous. He can't be a lover, he's a Vulcan."

"I'm just telling you what they told me. It's been a while now, since the inauguration."

"What?!" He snapped a little too loud, attracting more attention than he'd intended to.

"Calm down. It's not that farfetched."

"It's damn impossible."

"It's not. Look, look, look," he rattled excitedly, nudging his arm and bobbing his head in their direction. Uhura was in front of one of the displays, studying it and Spock was standing less than a hairsbreadth behind her. Then he stepped even closer, gripping her left hip. She looked over her shoulder at him, surprised. He dipped his head, whispering something. She grinned and put two of the fingers of her right hand against his in what must have been some Vulcan thing. She kissed his temple and he let her!

"Oh my—"

"I know! I've been telling him he needed to be a bit more obvious. I'm glad he finally listened to me."

"What in the name of heaven did I just see?"

"Oh, suck it up Bones."

"But…she's Uhura. And he's Spock."

"Unbelievable as it seems, there's your proof."

She took his hand then, leading him to the next cluster of pieces. He didn't go stiff or pull away, just walked beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"But Jim, what about Christine?"

"Oh. Well, something tells me that this news will be all over the ship by tomorrow morning. She's bound to find out."

The crowd was trying to be polite and not gawk, but they were doing a bad job. And already they were splitting in little groups to mummer about it, talking low behind their hands. "What's the matter, they've never seen two people hold hands before," the doctor said, suddenly feeling protective of his friend.

"Let's go back over there."

"So are congratulations in order?" Bones inquired, nodding to their clasped hands.

"Indeed."

"Well, not that it makes a smack of sense, but congratulations. I hope you're happy together…or not _happy_…you know what I mean."

"We do."

"You're creating quite the stir here."

"That was my plan. Your advice was well conceived, Captain. I believe it is prudent that others are aware of my association to Miss Uhura."

"They're aware. They are very much aware, Mr. Spock."

* * *

><p>AN: So I set up a couple ideas for the next few chapters. Stay tuned for that. In the meantime, please let me know what you think. I always welcome feedback and critique and I appreciate all your support in following, favoriting and reviewing this story.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Dear Fans of Nurse Chapel, I have nothing against her, but I've never sensed any real chemistry between her and Spock. I think her affection for Mr. Spock would be a point of contention for her and my two main players so I've decided to explore it. I know this update is rather short, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. The next few installments will probably be meatier. My thanks and gratitude to everyone who continues to support this story.

* * *

><p>It was unforgivably early and Christine felt like she'd been mowed down by a hover bus as she shuffled into the mess hall. She'd been up all night, which made no sense because she had been worrying about something that was completely impossible.<p>

The morning before, one of the technicians ran into med bay—full sprint. "Did you hear what happened at the exhibition last night?" She asked the other nurse.

"No. What?"

She tried not to eavesdrop, making sure to be extra diligent in filling the hypos.

"Mr. Spock and Lieutenant Uhura were holding hands. She even kissed him."

The tray she'd been arranging the medication on clattered to the floor and she bent down slowly, trying to pick it up while retaining her dignity. "Ladies, don't you have duties to attend to? You shouldn't spread rumors like that. People could get hurt."

"But it's not a rumor, Nurse. I was there last night and I saw it for myself. He grabbed her like this" she explained, gripping the other woman by the hip. And she kissed him on his temple. And they did something like," she formed what Christine knew was the finger embrace, clumsily brushing her fingers on the other nurse's. "Then they held hands all night," she finished dreamily. They squealed and Chapel tried to swallow the bile that had risen in her throat. Neither of them would betray her like that. There was some kind of misunderstanding or this was a joke. "The commander looked _so_ hot. Oh and she was a stunner!"

"She always is. Nobody fills that uniform out like she does."

"He's Vulcan, not dead."

"Enough! Be about you work."

"Yes, Sir." She out ranked them and so it was customary for them to respond to her like that and yet, in that moment the last thing she wanted was to be addressed as a man.

When they finally settled down, she went over the computer and checked the vaccine schedules. The alpha shift bridge crew had yet to get their boosters. They would need them to defend against any alien infection one of the Babel delegates might unwittingly bring with them. Now was as good a time as any. And if she happened to see Spock or Uhura so be it.

Arming herself with a PADD for Kirk's signature and a belt full of doses she went to the Bridge. McCoy was already there; lingering at the Captain's side, trying to caution him against his copious caffeine intake.

"Ships run on dilithium. Captain's run on coffee."

"Cute. You should put that on a mug. But I'm telling you, Jim—" he stopped talking as she approached, extending the device to Kirk. He read it quickly, reached behind him for a stylus—which Uhura swiftly provided—and scrawled his name boisterously across the screen. She started with the man in front of her and worked counterclockwise, so that the science officer would be her last patient. In that time, they kept working.

"Doctor, here's a list of the special medical requirements of the delegates." The comm officer said, tapping at her console and transferring the information to the tablet in his hand. It chimed and he glanced at it, nodding.

"Thank God for small miracles. It's a short list."

She drowned out the rest of the conversation until she heard Mr. Spock speak. Oh that voice. It was so deep and rich and the way he pronounced everything so carefully. His English was the best of anyone on the ship, even if it wasn't his native tongue.

"Lieutenant, alert all necessary parties that estimated ETA for Krios Prime is 20 standard hours from now."

"Yes, Sir."

The exchange was totally innocent and all the proof she needed that what she'd heard earlier wasn't true. There were no lingering glances or soft whispered tones, their chairs weren't any closer than normal. There was nothing there.

"Morning Uhura," she greeted as she reached the communications station.

"Good morning, Christine." There was no way she would be able to grin in her face like that if she was stabbing her in the back. Uhura didn't have that kind of duplicity in her. She noticed that she had small, faded marks directly on her collar bone that looked like puncture wounds but she'd never come to have for any dermal repair. Now of course, it was just speculation, but she'd heard that biting—marking— was a Vulcan mating behavior. But it didn't matter because that was most certainly not what those neat blemishes on her skin were. Still, she might have jabbed her a little too hard with the hypo. The Lieutenant's eyes went wide for a second and Chapel made a silent gesture of apology before moving to Spock.

He was looking at the monitor, probably double checking something that's he'd gotten perfectly right the first time. "Good morning."

"Nurse."

"Did you…sleep well?"

"My rest was sufficient."

She nodded and tucked the end of the needle just behind his gorgeous ear and pressed the release. He didn't even flinch. Such control.

Before she was able to get any kind of conversation going, the CMO had forwarded her the document that Uhura had given him along with an urgent message summoning her back to sickbay.

It was nothing, she repeated to herself as she tried to care about the mundane task before her. She made it through her day like that, totally ignoring the fact that everyone on the ship seemed to have nothing better to talk about. But if she had to see another two people in the hall making a sad attempt at the ozh'esta, imitating something that had not even happened, she might scream.

That's what kept her up all night. The image of him and Uhura doing something that intimate wouldn't go away. It got worse every time she closed her eyes. _It was not true_, but it was haunting her. Which is why she was up at the crack of dawn, feeling like garbage, trolling for coffee in the mess hall.

It was quiet and the lights were dim to simulate the way earth's sky looks just before sunrise. She was in yoga pants and a soft T-shirt that used to belonged to her ex-fiancé Roger. Her hair was swept back from her face and held in place by two elastic headbands. She was glad that there was no one around. Almost no one.

Sitting by one of the port holes were Spock and Uhura. Now they were sitting closer than normal, staring at each other and whispering. She devoted herself to moving stealthily to the replicator and trying to hear what they were saying.

"They are identical."

"I don't know that." She tugged at the mug in front of him, but he had a good grip on it and it didn't budge. "Spock."

"You are free to consume your own beverage."

"I want this one, I know it's spicier, I can smell it."

"Your tea is getting cold. It will be most unpleasant." She looked at him through her lashes and his grasp on the cup went lax enough for her to slide it away from him and replace it with the one that had been sitting closer to her.

"Thank you."

"It was the only logical way to stop your pleas."

"Logic," she echoed like she didn't quite believe him. "You were forced to succumb to my feminine wiles."

"I admit that you are often quite wily." She laughed and took his hand, bringing it to her lips. His eyebrow quirked as he leaned forward and said something so quietly that Christine was sure even a Vulcan couldn't have overheard it. Uhura sat back biting her lip, her eyes lidded. They hadn't even noticed her. She wasn't sure if that was for the better or not. But she didn't want to think about it either way, so she took her coffee and left.

* * *

><p>Uhura's dress uniform got such little use that she was forced to keep it in the back of the closet, draped in a plastic dust cover. Most female officers never wore them since they had the option of wearing gowns for formal occasions. But the diplomatic receptions were a bit different, and Kirk seemed keen to have her greet and give tours to as many delegations as possible. This meant that she had to research every species in advance and learn the appropriate salutations. It was quite the undertaking, but honestly, it excited her.<p>

She shined her medals to a glimmer and polished the low heeled pumps to a mirror finish. The tailored shirt fit nicely and she couldn't help but admire her figure in the mirror. The black pencil skirt fell just above her knee, which was a sharp contrast to her tiny duty uniform.

On her way to the shuttle bay, she ran into Spock who was in his dress blues. He'd just finished a tour. She nodded curtly and expected him to do the same. Instead he stopped her.

"Lieutenant, your uniform is non-regulation." Her eyes fell over her form. Everything was perfect, not a stitch was out of place.

"Sir?"

"Your jewelry."

She touched her ear and realized that she was still wearing her jade hoops. They were fine for duty, but he was right, they didn't conform to the fancy dress standard. So she undid the fasteners and placed them in the hand he'd extended. His fingers closed over them and dismissed her with the nod she'd been looking for in the first place.

As she continued on her way, she thought on the line she and Spock had drawn between business and pleasure. Thankfully, with him, it wasn't hard to turn off the affection. But while it may have seemed that the Commander had confiscated her contraband, she knew that he would take the earrings back to her room and sit them neatly in her jewelry box. For some—probably illogical—reason this knowledge made her smile. A smile that she quickly suppressed before stepping off the turbo lift and approaching the shuttle bay.

The honor guard was already waiting, standing at attention. As restrictive as the dress uniform was, it did give her a certain air of authority that she liked. Her posture seemed to have improved since putting it on.

The delegation she received was from a relatively friendly planet. She gave the correct greeting, putting her right fist over her heart and bending at the waist. They returned it, grinning. And while all the ambassadors spoke standard, she greeted the party in their native tongue.

The ambassador was a beautiful woman—young looking. She had a warm mink complexion and vibrant violet hair hanging down her back. She wore a headpiece that looked half way between a headband and a tiara. Her garb consisted of a brightly patterned top that bared considerable midriff, a solid colored mermaid skirt and a chiffon drape that she wrapped around her shoulders.

The two women took to each other quickly as Nyota took her around the ship, explaining different machines and apparatuses. The ambassador had a lot of questions about dilithium since it was so related to the main topic of the conference. When her queries exceeded Uhura's familiarity with the subject, she took her down to engineering and let her pick Charlene's brain. Masters felt about dilithium crystals the way Uhura felt about subspace frequencies, so she kept on until the other woman was tired and ready to retire to her room.

"You and Lieutenant Masters are quite knowledgeable," she commented as they reached the assigned quarters.

"Thank you, Madam." Nyota flipped her hands palm up and ducked her head in the traditional expression of gratitude.

"You would be very welcome to visit my home world."

"That would be wonderful! I am honored by your offer."

She received exactly four more invitations just like that before they were on their way to Vulcan to pick up the last of the delegates. Several times, her presence was specifically requested in the mess hall or rec room so that she might dine with them or teach them some human game or song. Of course, she didn't mind at all. This was her element. Any chance to prove that communication was more than sitting at the console pressing buttons. It was an art form. It required that she be a liaison and cultural interpreter, along with all the technical know-how involved. Making connections with other begins was her purpose in life and she'd known that since she was very little. So she rarely felt so fulfilled in her work as when she sat at a table of interstellar envoys and listened as they told her about the terrains of their planets, the rites of passage they'd undertaken, their favorite foods—many of which she could only imagine, or recited quotes and poems in their various languages.

It was one of the best few weeks of the mission so far—until it wasn't.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: The events of this chapter are taken from **S2:Ep10 Journey to Babel**. I have taken one liberty here by putting Uhura at the Con once Kirk leaves the bridge for the final time. In the actual episode, he leaves Chekov in charge, but that doesn't make any sense because she ranks him. I'm going to go ahead and assume that it was done this way because the show aired in the 1960s and it was impossible to put a WOC in command of a starship. But it's 2015 so I fixed it. A huge thank you to all my readers. Please enjoy this update :)

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><p>Spock walked on to the bridge and for some reason his presence seemed more imposing than usual. But that could have just been her nerves, knowing that somewhere aboard this ship was the person that had murdered Ambassador Gav and that they were being perused by a hostile vessel. Instinctively, she wanted to go over to him and wrap her arms around him until she forgot the danger. But that was far from productive—in fact, it was impossible. So she kept her attention on her station trying to decode the alien signal that the enemy ship had transmitted earlier.<p>

She was surprised when he stopped at her station.

"Lieutenant, a word."

"Yes, Sir."

He paced a few steps to stand just in front of the turbo lift and she followed. It was the most privacy they could hope for without leaving the bridge. His voice was low so that only they would hear. "I thought it prudent to inform you that my father has suffered what can only be equated to a heart attack." Her hand snapped to her mouth to cover a gasp. "He needs surgery that will require tremendous amounts of blood." She nodded, making an effort not imagine the worst case scenario. "His blood type is extremely rare, but I am a match, even with the human factors present in my blood."

"Exactly how much is a tremendous amount?" She whispered around a nervous laugh.

"More than I can naturally provide. Doctor McCoy will administer a drug that will drastically increase my blood-reproduction rate. This will allow me to give the transfusion. I should tell you however, that the drug is still experimental and has never been used in Vulcans before. There is a considerable risk involved."

"Considerable? It must be if you thought you needed to tell me this."

"I could die."

"Spock. I—" she couldn't think of anything else to say. Her head was spinning.

"It is necessary to save Sarek's life. He will _certainly_ die if I do not submit to this procedure."

Crying wasn't an option despite the new knot in her chest and the lump that had lodged in her throat. She swallowed around it, doing the breathing exercises that he's taught her. She wanted to be selfish and beg him not to do it. She wanted to protest on the grounds that it sounded too unsafe. But this was his father's life. And if she were in his position, she wouldn't hesitate to do the same. "Thank you for telling me."

"It was logical. You may return to your station now."

"Yes, sir."

Her hands shook as she resumed her task. Her hands never shook over the buttons and switches of her console. She stole a glance at Spock who was at the con while Kirk was elsewhere. His face seemed tranquil and he was steady. He was the picture of surety, but she knew that inside he must be experiencing turmoil. If he could keep it together when it was his dad in a bio bed, then she could have grace under fire too.

Not long after she managed to compose herself, Kirk called up to the bridge and said that he'd been attacked by an Andorian. Spock disappeared below deck and she wondered how this mission could get any worse. If kirk was incapacitated, then there was no telling how things would work out. If she ever needed to see him sitting in that chair, leaned to one side, calling out commands with his authoritative voice, it was now.

She still couldn't do anything with the signal. There was a receiver somewhere on _Enterprise_, that much she knew, but everything else was a mystery. She looked through the database for the umpteenth time, searching for a sequence that was even similar, but there was none. If she had even a bit more information, she might be able to work out the _type _of receiver which might tell her what planet it had been manufactured on. But she didn't even have that much to go by.

When the first officer returned, she was making records of the encounter. She quickly formulated a progress report and took it to Spock where he sat at the con.

"Good work." He commented as he handed it back to her. He looked less put together than before. No one else would have noticed it but she could see that he was a little frayed.

"When is McCoy going to start the operation?"

"There will be no operation."

"Spock—" He sighed minutely, discreetly sliding his hand over hers where it rested on the arm of the captain's chair. Instantly she felt a strong sense of regret, guilt, and sadness. There was also strong resolve.

"As I have already explained to my mother, the safety of this ship must be my primary concern. I take my oaths to Starfleet and the Federation very seriously and cannot go back on my word for personal reasons. The ship is in imminent danger. I must stay in command."

"Scotty can take command. I can take command if that's what you need me to do."

"I have no doubt in either of your abilities. But I have no logical basis for stepping down. Familial obligations do not count."

"They're all that count. Spock, this is your father, your mother's husband. Have you considered what happens to her if Sarek dies? You'd be out in space and she'd be completely alone."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one."

"Okay. Let's go with that, then. Your father is the ambassador to earth and the council uses him in a broader capacity too, yes?"

"Your point?"

"There's your many! Your father is an important cog in a massive machine. Have you considered that? Spock…"

"I will not change my decision." She sensed a shift and felt him deepen the mental contact though she couldn't explain the sensation if she tired. He spoke directly to her mind, the way he had in the meld. _"I would greatly appreciate your support in this matter. I have already incurred my mother's disproval; I do not wish to suffer yours also."_

"'_I'll support you no matter what, but I think you need to reconsider. You're going to live a very long time Spock—assuming any of us survive this cursed mission—and I would hate to see you make a decision that you'll regret for the next two centuries."_

"_I will live knowing that I acted logically and honored my father by conducting myself according to the beliefs of our people."_

"_And how will the human half of you live?"_

"Return to your station, Lieutenant."

"_Listen to me, My Love—"_

"Return to your station." He bit off in Vulcan taking his hand away.

"Yes, Sir."

When Kirk came back to the bridge with McCoy in tow, she nearly leapt from her seat. This just fed her suspicions that he was invincible. And she was grateful to see Spock leave for sickbay with the doctor. She knew he didn't feel good about the decision he thought he had to make. She sensed his stress, even when they weren't touching.

She'd had her fill of death by the time the ordeal was over. The intruder ship—which had been manned—self destructed, the imposter Andorian committed suicide and Ambassador Gav had been murdered. While she wouldn't have called him the friendliest soul, she'd engaged him and found it was stimulating—if you gave yourself over the Tellarite custom of social arguing. She was sad to see him killed and disturbed by the fact that she'd dined with Thelev and the Andorian ambassador the night before, not knowing what a danger the aide was.

Kirk put her in Command as he left. For a while, she stayed in her own seat, assuming that Scott would be along soon to take the con. When more than a half hour passed and he'd yet to show, she went over to the captain's chair and sat tentatively, calling down to engineering. "Scotty, how long before you make it to the bridge?"

"Lass, I've got my work cut out for me. The shields took a pounding. We're still transporting very precious cargo; we can't very well go around with compromised defenses. And all decks took significant damage. I'm needed here. I'm sure you've got it well in hand."

"Of course. Carry on, Mr. Scott." She replied, her voice sounding more confident than she felt.

She slid back into the chair and took in the view from there. The bride seemed bigger, the whole ship did. She'd never had the con before, but she felt the heaviness, like suddenly she could hear the 542 heartbeats of every being aboard. A voice in her head reminded her how much work and how many credits went into constructing and deploying a constitution class ship like theirs. All she could hope for was a quiet cruise from now on and that there weren't any Klingons ducking behind some obscure moon waiting to attack.

"Lieutenant," a dark haired yeoman said as she approached. "Mr. Spock's report."

"Thank you, yeoman."

She read it over trying to figure out how the hell anyone could make an Orion look like an Andorian. But other than that, his conclusions made the last few hours make a little more sense, especially why the other ship had been so powerful.

"Lieutenant," she turned her attention to Palmer who'd taken over communications. "When Dr. McCoy's autopsy comes through, I want you to attach it Mr. Spock's report and forward it to Starfleet Command and Starfleet intelligence along with a copy of the transmission from the intruder vessel and the footage of the attack from the hull-mounted cameras. Send it on a secure priority channel. Then get me the planetary caretaker for Babel."

"Yes, Sir."

"Scott," she tapped the button, paging the chief engineer again. "We lost some time engaging the hostiles. What's the best warp you can give me and how long can we sustain it?"

"I've diverted some of the power to shields so our best speed is 5.3 and we can safely maintain it for four hours maximum, no more. But that should compensate."

"Please increase speed to best warp."

"Aye."

"I have the caretaker on Chanel B."

"On Screen." A Denobulan woman appeared, looking as grave as Uhura felt at the moment. She had shockingly blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair that curled lightly about her shoulders. "Caretaker. I'm Lieutenant Uhura, commanding the USS Enterprise. Our vessel came under attack by a hostile non-federation force. We have reason to believe that they wanted to disrupt this conference. Have you been made aware of any suspicious activity on the planetoid?"

"Lieutenant, I'm glad to see that you vessel is intact. Starfleet has updated us on the situation and we have not had any irregular activity, but we are boosting planet shields and going to alert status four."

"Good. _Enterprise's _ETA remains at fourteen standard days."

"We'll be ready for you."

"Excellent. _Enterprise _out.

At length, Sulu came up to relieve her, smiling and giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "They're having a service for Gav in the non-denominational chapel in about thirty minutes. I thought you might like to know."

"Thanks, Sulu."

She was eager to see Spock but she thought it was only right to pay her respects to the ambassador. She went to her room and changed into a demure black sheath. She hadn't thought to look up the funerary traditions of the delegates so she hoped the color would be appropriate.

When she arrived to the modest chapel she sought out Gav's aide. He was near the lectern speaking with Shras, the Andorian ambassador. She approached the pair cautiously, hanging back until one of them noticed her and invited her to come closer.

"Human."

"Gral." She offered the white poppies she'd brought. "They are a symbol of consolation."

"Am I supposed to be consoled by these?" He snatched them and waved them aggressively, losing a few petals in the process. Shras looked at her sympathetically, his antennae dipping in her direction. "They look like you got them out the back end of a replicator."

"Good! Then they match those rags you call clothes," she countered.

He almost smiled—at least it looked like it. "You argue like a child!"

"Then I obviously have the advantage since you would fail to insult a slug. You couldn't even make a baby cry."

"Embrace the human custom, Tellarite, and simply express gratitude."

He grunted, but sounded truly sincere when he thanked her. He went on to explain how services were typically carried out on Tellar. As he expounded, she felt saddened, realizing that Gav had a wife and several children who would be grieving him. Gral assured them that he would be laid to rest with top honors, paying tribute to the expert way he'd handled Tellarite interests.

"I'm sure he will be missed."

"He will be." The aide's voice was soft, too soft for a man of his species. "Which is more than I can say of this sad excuse for a ship. It needs to be decommissioned right after this mission is over!" He fixed his tone, remembering himself.

"Why decommission it? If it's as raggedy as you say, we can give it to Tellar. Then it will be the nicest ship in your fleet."

Shras suppressed a laugh. "Go speak with the other mourners Gral. Stop favoring the Lieutenant." He stalked off to do just that while she and the ambassador moved to the back of the room. "Have you considered a career in diplomacy? Terra would do well to use you as an envoy to Tellar."

"You're flattering me."

"There are very few who can hold their own with them. This is a very strange business. We all disagree politically for one reason or another—culture, tradition, morality…but we are not always at odds. You don't have to completely agree with someone's ideology to tolerate them. I often see many of these people at social gatherings. I have learned to enjoy myself in their company. Now to have Gav dead…it is strange indeed."

"I'm sorry."

"A peculiar habit your people have, apologizing for grief you haven't caused."

"We usually say it because we can't think of anything better."

"Then perhaps I should say that I'm sorry too."

Nyota noticed Lady Amanda enter the space though she did so quietly. They had obviously been thinking along the same lines since she wore a dark gray dress. She also had on a small headpiece with a mesh veil that came forward and swept across her face asymmetrically. Uhura was relieved that Mrs. Sarek wasn't wearing the outfit to a service for her own husband. There was a company of Vulcans behind her, the rest of the delegation.

She waited as the older woman greeted Gral, moving away before he could start the verbal jousting. She wasn't sure if she should approach her in this setting, but ultimately decided to at least greet her.

"Lady Amanda."

"Hello…"

"Lieutenant Uhura."

"So you're Spock's lieutenant? Well, my son said that you were aesthetically pleasing, but he didn't tell me you were beautiful."

"You're too kind."

"Sit with me, Dear," she urged, taking her seat in the back of the chapel. "You don't mind if I hold your hand do you? It's been a long day."

Uhura wrapped her hand around Amanda's and gave it a light squeeze as she took her place next to her. Shras was on her other side. The group listened respectfully as Gral spoke. He started by complaining that there was no way to properly carry out the arrangements on the ship and listing the short comings of the earth-style memorial. But eventually he moved on to speaking about what made Gav a good diplomat. He even spoke on the late ambassador's family and what a loyal man he'd been in that regard. He finished the eulogy with a traditional send off, reciting in an old Tellarite dialect. Scotty stood up from where he was on the front row and called for a moment of silence before dismissing everyone.

"Have you eaten?"

"No, Ma'am I haven't."

"Neither have I. Can you come with me to the mess hall?"

"It'd be my pleasure."

Everyone was rather somber and almost everyone had confined themselves to their rooms. The mess hall was sparsely populated with a few passengers and crewmen. The two women settled at a table in the center of the room.

"I deserve this," Amanda said as she sat her plate on the table.

"I would have assumed you were a vegetarian." Uhura said, looking at the bacon cheeseburger in front of her dinner companion.

"By circumstance, not choice. But this burger is synthesized, so no animals were harmed in the making of this meal." She bit into it delightedly, with a soft satisfied noise. The condiments that she put on it dripped out onto her hand so she glanced over the room quickly before licking her fingers. Spock mentioned that his mother was human, but Nyota hadn't realized how much until right then.

"How are they doing?" She asked, starting on her vegetable stir fry.

"Well, Spock is pestering the doctor to release him, your captain is trying to get a status report from anyone who walks by and Sarek was reviewing the dossier again."

"So everyone's fine then?"

"It would seem so. How did you like your harp?"

"Oh, it's magnificent! For a while I couldn't play it because of a…freak accident. But I'm better now and I practice it every day."

"Good. Spock's never sent me on an errand like that before. I knew whoever he was getting it for must be special."

"I don't know how special I am. But it was the most thoughtful thing that's ever been done for me. Spock is like that though."

"Tell me, does he ever smile?"

"Very rarely. Oh, but when he does!" She gushed, before looking back down at her food bashfully.

"You're in love with him."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Every woman in love is. I'm happy to see someone so smitten with my son."

"What about the Ambassador? What will he think about me and Spock?"

Lady Amanda went still for a while, holding a fry halfway between her mouth and her plate as she considered this. Her thinking face looked a lot like Spock's, which put Uhura at ease with the silence. "I don't know. _Logically_ he shouldn't have anything to say since he has a human wife…but logic sometimes falters between those two…I guess we'll just have to wait and see. But not to worry, I'm in your corner."


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: **Trigger warning: This chapter contains memories of a military-style death notification. **That's all I can say without spoiling anything, but please proceed with caution. Originally, this chapter was going to be significantly longer, but I felt like this kind of needed to stand alone. The next one will be longer and a lot less heavy and we'll be getting back around to Nurse Chapel. In the meantime, let me know what you think of this installment.

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><p>Amanda and Uhura walked into the sickbay together and found Spock and Sarek playing 3D chess. The ambassador was sitting up in bed and Spock had situated himself in a nearby chair. The board was set up on the collapsible table attached to the bio bed. It didn't seem all that strange, but Amanda looked at them like they'd walked in on the pair laughing and high-fiving. She moved over to them like a narrator of a nature documentary, afraid of disturbing skittish animals. Her careful approach somehow made Uhura's breath go still and rooted her feet to the spot. When Lady Amanda finally got over there, she smoothed her hands over the ambassadors' shoulders and whispered, "Sarek, you're playing chess with Spock."<p>

"Your powers of observation are as keen as ever, My Wife."

Spock gently nudged one of his pawns forward before he turned to look at her. He offered her the ozh'esta and she accepted, closing the short distance between them. She could feel his father's eyes on them but Spock didn't seem overly concerned so she tried not to be.

"How did you come to be together?" He asked.

"We meet at the service."

"Indeed."

"How do you feel?"

"Quite well. I am experiencing no ill effects from the drug and would prefer to rest in my own cabin. Doctor McCoy however, insists on observing me until morning."

"Logical, since the medication was experimental." She countered.

"It is a waste of resources to keep me here when I am perfectly capable of returning to my quarters."

"Has he always been like this?"

"Yes," both of his parents answered firmly. Spock sat up straighter, looking affronted.

She looked around for an extra chair and found one by the captain's bedside. "This seat taken, Captain?" He looked up from his reading and smiled.

"Only if you're taking it."

She grinned back and put the chair next to Spock's. Lady Amanda had positioned herself on her husband's bed, sitting so that she was watching the game with her chin perched on his shoulder. Nyota couldn't help but wonder how many years it had taken her to get him comfortable with that kind of casual affection. Feeling encouraged, she allowed her head to drop onto Spock's shoulder and was pleasantly surprised when he didn't stiffen or shift away.

"I see you have taken another mate," the ambassador said in Vulcan as he captured one of his son's pieces.

"I have." He responded in kind.

"Rather quickly. It leaves one to question whether you had any intention of bonding with T'Pring at all."

"At the time of my scheduled bonding with—" he was about to say her name but thought better of it when he caught a glimpse of Uhura in his peripheral vision. "_That one_, I was in no position to refuse her at all." He gave the other man a pointed look. "Fortunately, she had all of her wits about her and was able to see how ill-conceived our match was. While there was little logic in preferring Stonn over myself, since she expressed a strong desire for my stature and assets and he possesses neither, I must admit that I believe that their personalities are well suited to one another. As my disposition is well suited to Nyota's"

"And what of logic? How is this pairing more logical that that of T'Pring and Stonn? Does your… t'hy'la have assets or status?"

"She speaks Vulcan," Uhura added in their language. "And may I respectfully suggest that any efforts to get to know me would be better served by speaking with _me._"

"Very well. You have heard and understood my question. What is your answer?"

"Sarek, there's no need to interrogate the young lady."

"Not at all, My Lady. As chief communications officer aboard one of the fleet's flagships I am well compensated for my efforts. I've also made some lucrative investments, domestically and off world. I enjoy financial security, I always have. As for status, I am known in the circles that matter to me."

"Indeed. And your parents? Is it possible that I've heard of them?"

"It is. My mother Sanaa is a documentary holographer. Right now, she's in the jungle on Ikaara profiling a small group of indigenous people who live very primitively. Their customs are so unique! They're a very community oriented people and they do these massive village-wide art projects, painting murals that everyone has a part in, even the smallest child!"

He seemed unimpressed with these factoids, asking his next question like he'd barely heard her. "And your father? Is he also a journalist?"

"Lieutenant Uhura's father—"

"It's okay, Spock. I can—I can speak for myself. My father was a Commander in the Starfleet. He was killed in the line of duty during the Pompeii Two incident."

Everyone in the federation knew what the Pompeii Two event was. A massive colony with settlers from almost every federation planet had to be evacuated when a series of powerful earthquakes rocked the planet. There was a huge Tsunami, but many were able to escape it by moving inland and to higher ground. Regardless, the settlements were decimated by these disasters. Scientist further estimated that the positions of the quakes would upset the planet's ring of volcanoes. The federation responded by sending an armada of ships, whatever was fast enough—freighter and garbage scows weren't even excused from the effort. In the end, thousands of lives were saved. But hundreds were not, including the Starfleet officers who were tasked with expediting the exodus. Her father was among these. One of the ones that were just a few moments too late, a couple seconds too slow, who's beam up hadn't happened fast enough.

Spock experienced irritation at Sarek and promptly dismissed it. Logically, he couldn't know that asking after her father would cause her pain. She never spoke of it with anyone. He himself learned of it in one of their melds. It was a scabbed wound that would bleed if picked at, and unwittingly, that's what his father had done. He captured one of his opponent's bishops and turned his attention back to her. Her eyes were glossed by unshed tears, but she was smiling. The way she did when she was trying to convince herself that she was okay.

"I regret causing you to have a negative emotional reaction."

"Oh, Sarek! I asked you to leave it."

"Please accept my apologies. I assure my only intention was to assess your suitability for my son."

"Of course! No harm no foul, Sir. I'm a big girl; I can handle a few questions. I think once we get to know each other you'll see that Spock and I are good together."

"I am agreeable to such an acquaintance."

"Good." She made herself watch them play a few more turns. Otherwise it would look like she was running. She wasn't a grand master, bus she knew enough about the game to know that Spock was spanking Sarek and she couldn't help but be a little happy about it. After what she decided was an appropriate amount of time, she excused herself, citing the exhausting nature of the day. Spock pressed his fingers to hers and she sensed that he was trying to comfort her. She kissed the crown of his head, bid her goodbyes, and left.

She couldn't go to her own room. If she did, she would think about the way her mother had been cooking when they got the news, her hands and apron coated in flour when she asked her to press the button to open their front door. She'd think of that little nervous sound Mama made when the door slid and there were two officers in dress uniforms with full spit and polish. She might even remember the way mama peeked around them like she expected Baba to be hiding back there. She knew she'd never recall the words the men said, because she didn't hear them, not with the way her heart was thundering and the blood was rushing past her ears. But she would think about the triangularly folded Starfleet flag and how her mother looked at her dusted hands and sputtered, unable to accept it. She'd remember how it was handed to her and how heavy it was, even though it weighed nothing. She would think about how the chicken in the pan burned and the smell that filled the house, the way they sat on the back porch while it aired out. She'd remember how angry she was that it was a mild and sunny day, how she felt mocked by this. There was no way she could be in her cabin alone, because she would think of how Mama cried into her father's active duty shirt, the odd way the fabric distorted her screams, but didn't muffle them enough. Then she might dwell on how she turned on her, forbidding her from enlisting, how she they didn't forgive each other for the things they said during the arguments until she was a junior at the academy. She 'd much rather think about how her face lit up when she told her about her first off world internship, or how proud she looked before she shipped out for the first time.

Actually, she didn't even want to go there. She just wanted to sleep.

She entered the access code for Charlene's room and walked in, using a great deal of energy just to keep from doubling over. When here friend saw her, she threw her covers aside and rushed toward her, almost knocking her down she'd picked up so much speed. "You okay?!"

"No."

She ushered her over the bed. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Is Mr. Spock hurt?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay." Masters provided her with pajamas and held her as she cried, asking nothing.


End file.
